Hello all,
I first looked at the Chopin Etude in C, Opus 10, number 1, about ten years ago, and concluded that I would never master it. It looked like trying to loft a boulder into outer space with my bare hands. I never brought it in to a lesson, but I kept coming back to it, with a certain morbid fascination. Eventually, I found, despite my failure to bring any rigorous work to it, that I had memorized it, and could play it in some halfway accurate and musical fashion, at around 116 beats per minute with four notes to the tick. And there I was stuck for a long a time.
What has come to me in the last couple months is a revelation. First of all, at David Dubal's suggestion (which I got in reading his books on pianists) I bought Alfred Cortot's edition of the Chopin Etudes. While the music itself is frequently dubious and mistaken, Cortot's wealth of suggestions on how to practice these pieces is an amazing and wonderful course on how to play the piano!
Secondly, I took this piece to a teacher, and got a few suggestions on how to approach its problems, which can also be so helpful.
Finally, I have made a crucial decision, unlike any other I've ever come to as a musician, which may take me a moment to describe coherently.
Perhaps this will strike some of you as so obvious as to be unworthy of your consideration, but, given that I am demonstrably smarter than most, perhaps some of you will also find this useful....
I have been operating in music in a terribly self-defeating way for many years. It is not merely that I have arranged things so that I have far too many responsibilities outside music, and can't practice nearly as much as I would like, it also has to do with the very nature of the time I spend at my practice. I have thought of an analogy to capture the problem here:
Imagine that you are a pilot, and you want to fly from New York to Paris. You've settled yourself into the cockpit of an airplane with the requisite performance and enough fuel to make the journey. You've pushed off the pier, started the engines, and there you are, taxiing proudly and confidently round the ramp, but something is wrong here. You're still on the ramp! You're not on the runway, where you can shove up the power, and build up a sufficient head of steam to become airborne! And once airborne, you would still need to point the machine in the right direction!
So here I am, taxiing round the ramp in my Chopin Etude No. 1, at 116 beats per minute, but I haven't made any move toward the runway, nor anything like concentrating my efforts in a way that will build up the requisite head of steam to get airborne. What's wrong here?
I haven't squared off with the essential problem of the piece. I haven't concentrated my effort with intelligence and rigor.
Well, how should I proceed? What would this intelligence and rigor look like?
For ten years, I have known the notes of this piece by memory. This is not enough. For ten years, I have known the structure of this piece with respect to its harmony and style. This too is not nearly enough.
A couple days ago, I decided to focus on the idea of trying to capture the available light of my powers, dim and feeble though I was convinced this light to be, and bend this light, as if through a magnifying glass, with the hope of bringing this light to bear on a tiny spot, so as to bring that spot up to ignition temperature! Set it on fire! Concentrate my effort as never before!
What I did was, instead of going through the whole piece again and again, with occasional attention to some harder spots (like that terrible configuration at the bottom of the second page, on an F major dominant 7th, which calls for the 5th finger to play the E-flat), I decided to start at the beginning, and get it right before proceeding any further. I've just spent most of two days of practice on nothing but the first two bars of this piece (which, given my limited time, amounts to only about four hours.) I have done all the Cortot exercises for this Etude, in all these different rhythms and configurations of chord distributions, and... here's the payoff... I can now walk up to the keyboard, any keyboard, from a dead stop, cold, without warmup, almost standing on my head with one arm tied behind me, and I can play those first two bars of the right hand at 176 beats per minute and four sixteenth notes per tick. I can do this with a certain supple expressiveness as well, and I am amazed and excited by the prospect that I may actually be looking at the day, in the near future, when I will have this piece completely under my conscious and deleriously happy command!
I have played the rest of the Etude a few times, and the speed has also increased without any further work there. I'm sure that as I move through the piece, two bars at a time, focusing in the way I have just concentrated on the first two bars, I should enjoy a similar success, especially since it's clear to me that these first two bars are among the hardest in the piece.
I hope this helps somebody else....
Warmly yours,
Eric Nolte