Playing the piano - even if only playing a piece of an elementary standard - requires of the performer a process which is not only intricate, but demanding, in as much as that from the outset, a substantial degree of musical aptitutde is necessary.
Technique is as much a manifestation of one's aural awareness and perceptions of pitch as it is a matter of physical control and muscular memory: one's hands, indeed, one's entire body move in reponse to those sounds a performer hopes to hear and convey to their audience. Those sounds, and one's body responses to those sounds, are irrefutably connected to one thing: rhythm - not just the notes themselves, but the rhythmic patterns which constitute overall an act of progression. Through this act of progression - the act of exercising one's motor skills to articulate an expression of "spontaneous" continuity - the larger relationships of form and structure will thus be embraced, and the work will be perceived, and, for want of a better term, projected as a whole.
Perhaps it would serve us well to consider the opposing worlds of painting and music. No two genres can be more different from each other - the former being an inhabitant of space, static and never changing, the latter being an inhabitant of time, possibly with no beginning or end (if one believes silence to be a sound - "the silence was deafening"), evolving but to dissipate through the very said same limits a painting occupies: space.
For the painter, the juxtaposition of ideas and the relationship of details are predetermined by the size of the canvas - therein is fixed the scope of one's thoughts. For the pianist, such a realization of space is perceived through one's ear, manifesting itself via various muscular responses to produce the sound imagined. But the pianist who works in such a way as to merely associate rhythm with the action for producing single tones (but isn't a tone made up of two notes?) is comparable to one who paints by numbers. The music will consist solely of what will sound to be disjointed notes, fragmenting the composer's thoughts through their lack of cohesion.
Concerning the execution of a musical scale, and in relation to the former, the following analogy by Walter Robert as quoted by Reginald Gerig in his book "Famous Pianists and their Technique" supports this concept:
"Scales are the free-hand drawing of the pianist's art. An even scale is the equivalent of a straight line. A scale rhythmically inflected, controlled in timbre and touch is the equivalent of the expressive brush-stroke of the painter. A scale dashed off swiftly is the correlate of a bold curve in a sketch."
Therefore, attention should first and foremost be given to comprehending a work as a uniform structure - a statement of continuity, progressing from before its audible beginning, to after its audible end, travelling through our passage of time to evoke at some stage in the future a feeling for nostalgia and remembrance of times past.
If one's playing is primarily governed and guided by ones' ear, then the muscular action required to bring about a more secure
performance will effectively come into play, the motivation behind one's muscular movements being the desire to bring to light the preconceived sound residing in the mind's ear, thus in essence, externalizing one's aural awareness of the composition's architecture, scope and style. Without the correct musical conception of what one is going to re-create, one only plays notes, not music.
Chopin's ETUDE IN C MINOR OP.25 No.12 admirably exemplifies this concept: that the act of progression and continuity is inextricably linked to rhythm. If one listens to this etude being performed, one can hear the various components comprising its formation unfold in what appears to be a spontaneous and unparalleled outpouring of the composer's pathos and sense of wounded national pride. Until the performer has rightly understood the integration of parts, they cannot interpret with any true degree of the sublime, the diversities equally as much a part of the fabric of its measures. The very freedom to diversify and decode the language that is music is but a direct consequence of experiencing this unity, and the deeper the experience, the more free the interpretation.
The overall movement required in playing this etude is one of parallel sweeps, comprising single notes in each hand, ascending and descending the keyboard,the control for which essentially comes from the shoulder. The hands are "shifted" along the keyboard with the thumbs and fifth fingers used successively on the same key. This movement is momentarily relaxed at bars 7 and 8 and in all similar instances throughout, where a more contracted figuration attenuates the overriding sesne of urgency with its infinite horizons. The rotary action for each of the arcs of sound and parallel figurations comprising its measures finds its origins and pivotal points in the wider progression of tones which shape its melody.
This etude, said to express Chopin's anguish over the fall of Warsaw to the Russians, has long been considered a companion piece to the legendary REVOLUTIONARY ETUDE of the Op.10. This etude unquestionably places Chopin foremost amongst the choicest masters of his art, ranking him more than just a composer for the piano, more than just a "poet" of the piano, for here, within its valorous sway and Homeric narrative strides the enduring spirit of the man : a pianist, a composer and a master-musician.
If a performance is aptly imbued with the expression of one's emotional responses, all that is inherently beautiful will be assembled and articulated in a way which is artistically satisfying to bo the performer and the audience alike.
PHILLIP WILCHER
(Article published by Music Teacher Magazine)
