Resources Mentioned
*Disclosure: I get commissions for purchases made through some of these links.
Last week, in Episode 6, I talked about four things I’m doing differently in my piano studio this year. Today, I want to take a step back and reflect on what it was like to be a student.
Do you remember your first lesson on your instrument?
Most of us probably don’t remember all the details—perhaps we remember the cover of our first lesson book or the feeling of playing our first piece or developing a practice routine at home (sticker charts, anyone?).
Today, I want to tell you a story about one of my piano teachers. She wasn’t my first teacher—in fact, she was one of my last teachers—but she was the woman who taught me how to overcome my fears, play with power and control, develop my own interpretation, and understand music and artistry at the piano in a whole new way.
And in some ways, that meant starting at the very beginning...
It was Thursday, July 12th, 2007—a hot summer day in south Georgia.
I pulled into the driveway of the southern house on Forsyth Street, two hours from home, for my first piano lesson. I had already completed my piano degree requirements for school, but I had one more semester left to finish my organ degree. But I was starting to prepare for grad school auditions in February, so I thought it might be helpful to take piano lessons with someone new, someone who didn’t know me or my playing, someone who could provide an outside perspective.
On the phone, Louise (with a deep, southern drawl) asked me to prepare all major and minor scales, four octaves, for our first lesson. That day, I was cordially ushered in off the wide front porch by a tall woman, truly delighted to see me. Her eyes sparkled and her smile immediately put me at ease. Her dark grey hair was tied up in a loose bun and she wore a ruffled white blouse and brown leather boots.
I took a seat at one of the two grand pianos in the long living room and she took hers at the opposite end of the room, settling in comfortably at the end of a row of velvet chairs.
I began with C Major. I played four octaves up, four octaves down and stopped. "Why are you stopping?" She asked. "Play them in sequence.”
I began again. C Major, D-flat Major, D Major.
All the while, Louise stood at the back of the room urging me on, "Louder! Faster! Pretend you're in Carnegie Hall—you have to play to the whole room!"
About the time I approached F Major, my arms were burning. My fingers felt stiff and uncontrollable but I couldn't stop. How could I stop? I dragged my hands up and down four octaves until I finally (somehow) managed to arrive back at C Major.
A few minutes later, we did this again. Louise took out a scrap piece of paper and on the back, wrote down five questions. Her writing flowed in neat lines, filling half the page. She handed it back to me and asked me to write down my responses. I read:
On a scale from 1 to 10—rate your performance—10 being the best.
6, I wrote. Tempo was fairly consistent, fingering needs work, need more endurance.
Why is it important to practice scales?
Physical strength, endurance, I wrote. Awareness of keys and key signatures. Strengthens fingers. Tempo consistency.
Why is fingering important?
Ease of playing. Scale lines in music. Consistency, I wrote.
Describe what you know about the technique of scale playing.
Finger position must be curved, wrists and arms must be relaxed, elbows must be used to broaden control, tempo must be consistent.
I handed it back to her with a slight smile, wondering if I gave the right answers. She read silently, nodding, then handed it back to me as she sat at the adjacent grand piano and began explaining how to play, how to create sound, how to play with expression and depth and power.
I grabbed a pen and began to write:
curve fingers more
lead with body
lift fingers off the key, don't touch the key first
tension is only permitted in the 1st joint of fingers
"free the music from yourself"
energy is all mental
watch dropping fingers on the keys
play in the air
the energy plays the keys
watch follow-through for each finger
be aware of our physical inhibitions—don't let them constrict the music
every action is plotted mentally
"you are your own teacher"
be aware of ego and laziness when practicing
fingers do the playing; support with strong body muscles
We began a few new technical exercises that day:
drop one finger at a time, up and down the scale line
drop/release using scale fingering (watch the follow-through)
a stretching/finger independence exercise
It was a humbling day and one that marked a turning point in my understanding of music. We spent the rest of our lesson time reviewing one scale—note by note, finger by finger, muscle by muscle. Never in my life had I paid so close attention to the mechanics of playing. For me, it was more than just learning how to play a scale; it was about overcoming fear, being completely vulnerable and taking a step toward playing with confidence.
The next week, we worked on scales, Bach (the same Bach you hear at the beginning and end of these episodes, in fact!), and Schubert.
“Bring cassette tape,” I wrote at the top of the page in my blue spiral notebook (remember, this was 2007!).
We continued our work together, week after week through the summer and fall, often with two 2-hour lessons per week.
Early on, Louise looked me in the eye and told me we were in this together; that it might feel like the work was all mine, but that she was going to be by my side the whole time, working with me. I was not alone in this. That was so reassuring to hear and it meant so much to me at the time. It's something I make sure to tell my students today.
Up until this point, I’d always struggled with memorization, but Louise offered an entirely different perspective on the process and as she spoke, I quickly jotted things down in my notebook:
Open your ears, quiet your thinking
Identify the notes before you play them—hear it one step ahead of where you play
Keep your consciousness peaceful—become a reflection
“Identify the notes before you play them—hear it one step ahead of where you play.”
One week, the only thing I wrote down was this simple, philosophical thought: “Listen with your eyes… see with your ears.”
I practiced more than I had in my life, and it felt good. My progress was tangible and I could feel myself getting stronger and more capable.
We added Brahms and Beethoven violin sonatas into our repertoire, scales, chords, and scales in octaves. By December, we added in a set of vocal pieces: O Mio Babbino, Notre Amour, Ständchen, and Il pleure dans mon coeur in multiple keys, per the audition requirements.
“Practicing,” I wrote one week, “is only for rehearsing your thought—it’s not about your fingers at all.”
“Practicing is only for rehearsing your thought—it’s not about your fingers at all.”
By early February, we had added in two choral reductions: Verdi and Handel, and four more songs: Early in the Morning, Wie Melodien, The Monk and His Cat, and Meine Liebe ist grün.
At my last lesson with Louise, I brought my audition outfit to run by her. We reviewed Il pleure (in G-sharp minor) and rehearsed the solo Bach with 11 memory spots. This was another trick I learned from our lessons together—practicing starting the piece in different places so that if you had a memory slip, you could jump ahead to the next memory spot to pick up and keep going.
A few weeks later, I received an offer for admission at Eastman and Louise was the first person I called. I’ll never forget our time together and all the lessons she taught me about music and pianism. I hope someday that I can be this kind of teacher for my students.
I’d love to hear from you:
What teacher had the greatest impact on you? How did they help you become the musician you are today?
