On the Hotseat: Guárdame las vacas

Author Dorothy Parker once said: “I hate writing; I love having written.” I feel the same about recording a video. Were I an editing wizz, I’d stitch together a perfect performance. (Before anyone fumes in righteous indignation, concert artists routinely edit their recordings. For example, there’s a well-known pianist who makes recordings by endlessly repeating passages, then edits together the best takes.) Unfortunately, I can only trim both ends of a take and nothing more. So whatever happens between start and finish, I have to live with it.

I made a fallback video first, intending then to do a series of takes in search of the perfect performance. After much cursing, a vestige of which you’ll see at the beginning, I said the hell with it and went with my fallback video. As it happens, this is a better idea, since the rough spots in my performance make for illuminating discussion, if not great listening.

In the week of practice before making this video, I at first despaired of getting Guardame to performance tempo. The problem was this: the tempo I wanted to play was just beyond where my right hand felt comfortable during rest stroke alternation. It seemed inevitable that I’d have to record the video below tempo. But as I got closer to recording day, I found my hand sometimes could almost handle the tempo I want for this piece. By Saturday morning—recording day—I decided to go for it and let the chips fall where they may.

What you’ll hear are very precise indices of where I am and how I practiced. For example, the initial run through the first variation goes well. On the repeat, however, I brighten the color by moving my hand closer to the bridge. Here the strings are a bit stiffer, and that requires a little more pressure from my fingers. That extra pressure pushes my hand beyond its current comfort zone. So in the brighter section beginning at the 1:15 mark, you’ll hear mistakes that were absent in the first run through the same section. Oddly, the mistakes happened not during the bright passage, but just after it. What happened is that my hand tightened up in the bright section, and I paid the price in the passage that followed.

Regarding how I practiced, I put much more work in the first variation, with its extended scales, than I put in the subsequent variations. That came back to bite me in the video. In the second variation there’s an extended scale (at the 1:44 mark) that still doesn’t feel good during rest stroke alternation. So not only was it scruffy in the video, but worrying about it also screwed up a non-scalar passage. On the bright side, this is strong evidence that more practice actually makes me better. Who knew?

And just so you’ll know: I use only free stroke in the theme section. Rest stroke doesn’t begin until the first variation.

Overall, this video is an object lesson on how unreliable technique steals competence, even in places where the technique is more reliable. Right now, I’m still in no man’s land. My right hand is creeping forward—compare this video to the one I made on May 1—but it still takes much concentration to hold it together when fast rest stroke alternation looms on the horizon. My goal is an easy rest stroke technique, one where I can push a button and simply play. My conscious thoughts while playing should be musical, not technical. Until I’m there, much work remains.

By the way, in the last week I’ve really started to enjoy the sound of rest stroke. On those rare occasions when a fast passage goes well, I’m approaching a creamy smoothness that I’ve long admired in other players. (It also reminds me of why I love my Fischer.) As any good player knows, rest stroke isn’t just a matter of loudness. It’s also a quality of sound. There are some who natter on about how rest stroke is unnecessary. Not for me. I want that color on my palette.

——[My next update will be August 8, 2011]——

Impasse?

New York City Mayor Ed Koch had a habit of asking his constituents “how am I doing?” It’s a good question for anyone trying to improve. And it’s a very good question for musicians trying to improve their playing. Trouble is, I’ve no idea how to answer it right now. Part of the problem is that I’m not even sure I’m at an impasse. Maybe I’m progressing at about the right rate for someone of my age, physical makeup, and background. My glacial progress might be the nature of the beast I’m trying to tame. In which case I just need to stay on task and be patient.

Then again, lemmings stay on task.

For the upcoming week, I’ll continue preparing for a video performance of Guardame. After that, I need to reexamine what I’m doing and make sure it’s getting me somewhere other than over a cliff edge.

In my last post I described my “sonic boom syndrome.” That brought forth the following comment:

“I know what you mean about that sonic boom. I compare it to walking vs. running. You can attain a maximum walking speed, but if you need to go faster, you have to run. In a run, both feet are off the ground at the same time. A fast walk can actually be faster than a slow run, but a slow run can feel awkward. Maybe that explains why your hand felt better when you increased the speed.”

I hadn’t thought of it in exactly the way you describe, but it’s close. Rather, I’ve thought of it as analogous to a singer transitioning between chest voice and head voice. Your analogy might be more apt. But the problem is essentially the same: learning to do a seamless transition between two physical states. Or maybe I’m using two states—a good one and a bad one—where only the good one is needed.

As I said, I’m at an impasse. Or not.

On a more positive note, I’m currently reading a book on cosmology. It’s “The Hidden Reality: Parallel Universes and the Deep Laws of the Cosmos” by Brian Greene. Usually this stuff goes way over my head. But the author explains things well, to where I almost understand what he’s talking about. In one chapter he explains how, in an infinitely large universe, everything inevitably repeats itself. So somewhere out there are identical copies of everyone here. Not only that, but these identical copies may well play out alternate realities. So in one place, you’re huddling in a cardboard box cooking a rat—in another place, you’re in the wine cellar of your mansion mulling between the Château d’Argadens Bordeaux Superieur 2006 or the Lacrimus Crianza Rioja 2006

I’ve heard this theory before and always thought it a bit tetched. But after reading Greene’s lucid explanation, it seems plausible. So it’s possible that somewhere out there another me is ripping through a rest stroke scale at 184.

That’s nice to know.


——[My next update will be August 1, 2011]——

Practicing with a Cigarette and Blindfold

I must admit that, with over half a year invested in this project and not much audible progress to show for it, boredom is an ever-present danger. My last few posts on this blog reflect this—I detect in them little of the excitement that animates my earlier posts. But when all seems dark, I take comfort in this little couplet:

“When in danger or in doubt,
run in circles, scream and shout.”

The source for this is obscure, but it’s often credited to the United States Navy, circa WWII. That wouldn’t surprise me, as I first heard it from my father, who served in the navy during WWII. Whatever its true source, I’ve found it a useful response in many situations.

My scheduled video of Guardame at the end of this month is such a response. The reasoning harks back to my student days. When I was working toward my bachelor’s degree, I would sometimes find myself at an impasse where progress ground to a halt. I soon found that when this happened, a good strategy was to schedule a performance. The foreboding terror of stepping unready before an audience had a way of sharpening my practice sessions. Or as Samuel Johnson put it: “Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.”

So with my mind thus concentrated, Guardame las vacas dominates my one hour right hand sessions. No herd of cows was ever tended so faithfully as my right hand is now. After beginning with five minutes of finger push-ups, I go directly to every extended scale passage in Guardame, starting at a metronome setting where my hand feels comfortable. (Lately, that’s at about 60.) Then I tweak the tempo up and try again. When I hit a tempo where my hand starts to tighten, I slow down a tad and run repetitions there.

The “swing and miss syndrome” mentioned in my last post is still alive and well. It tends to happen as I move in to the third and fourth strings. All I can say is that I’m working on it. You’ll hear the result soon enough.

While arpeggios are more toward the back burner, I’m still giving them some time during my sessions. Here’s something that interests me. Doing the p, i, m, a, m, i arpeggio slowly, my hand feels just fine. As I slowly increase the tempo, however, my hand gradually tenses up. Eventually I hit a tempo of maximum tension, where my hand feels awful. That in itself isn’t surprising. but what follows is. If I further increase the tempo, suddenly my hand feels better—the tension dramatically decreases. Mind you, the control isn’t what it should be, and the rhythm gallops a bit. But the feel is good, and it seems just a matter of greater diligence to improve my control. I call it the “sonic boom syndrome.” I don’t really understand it fully, so I’ll keep tinkering with it.

Those of you who squinted at the dark gloom of my last video will be pleased to know that I just ordered a set of video lights. I guess I’ll now have to clean myself up before shooting a video. Sheesh, the things we do for art.


——[My next update will be July 25, 2011]——

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

Most of my right hand practice is on Guardame. I’m still planning on a complete performance for my next video update. Since I want to stick with a “warts and all” approach, I’ll do an unedited performance. So I’m practicing a lot, as I don’t want to slog through an endless sequence of takes to get one acceptable performance.

During my right hand alternation practice, I’ve repeatedly encountered the same problem: the swing and miss syndrome. In this syndrome, one of my right hand fingers—usually m—either barely glances the string or misses entirely. I can overcome this by playing louder, digging into the string with more pressure. But this slows me down and ramps up the tension in my hand.

Further, I’ve found I can no longer do speed bursts. Remember the 184 burst from my February 12 post? It’s gone. Obviously it’s gone because I haven’t practiced it. I’d become suspicious of speed bursts, thinking they might be reinforcing a movement I can’t sustain for anything longer than a burst. But now I’m reconsidering. To paraphrase Sir Winston Churchill, speed bursts may be the worst kind speed practice, except for everything else I’ve tried.

What I’ll try now are sessions of loud playing alternating with sessions of lighter speed bursts. My hope is that, driving from the two extremes, I can gradually meet in the middle, integrating forceful control with the lightness of speed. I doubt that either approach by itself will work without the other. So it’s both ends to the middle, and the devil take the hindmost.

Gradually a crucial question has coalesced. In an experienced player, what does it take to ingrain a new way of playing? Ironically, when trying to ingrain a new movement beginners have an advantage over those who’ve played a long time. Beginners are a blank slate, starting from zero. As an experienced player, however, I’m starting from less than zero. I have a wrong movement deeply ingrained by decades of playing. My right hand is like the teenager who already knows everything, and woe to anyone who tries to tell it something different.

In a bit of serendipity, I’ve just started reading a book that lightly touches on this very question. The subject—memorization—is a bit different from what I’m working at. But in essence the author, Joshua Foer, asks the same question that I’m wrestling with. Can an average person, with the right practice, develop a skill far beyond what he might at first consider possible? The book is entitled “Moonwalking with Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything.” In it, Foer chronicles his journey from an average guy who can’t remember where he put his car keys to becoming the United States Memory Champion.

Hey, maybe someday I’ll win the GFA competition!

And there you go again with the giggling.



——[My next update will be July 18, 2011]——

What Remains Is the Work

My latest video is up. I apologize for the film noir lighting—I’ll not try that set-up again. I also apologize for the sour unison notes in Guardame. For some reason, I decided to change my strings shortly before I made the video. (What was I thinking?)

You’ll see and hear the three scale excerpts I use during my right hand alternation session. Something you’ll notice during the Drewries excerpt are the occasional dropped notes. This is when a finger swings and misses, particularly on the third and fourth strings. Perhaps you recall this from my May 1 post:

 “By the way, string crossing is often portrayed as a big deal in learning fast right hand alternation. I suspect, however, that it’s not nearly the hassle it’s made out to be.”

Well, apparently string crossing is an issue, at least for me. I’m making a greater effort to snap my fingers more directly and sharply, and to ensure my hand is correctly placed as I cross from string to string.

Next week I’ll take stock of where I am. Now entering my seventh month, I’m disappointed with my progress so far. I can only say that my right hand feels better. But the playing is the thing, and it’s not impressive. It seems that all I have to say has been said, and what remains is the work. The work, however, should be productive. If it isn’t, then maybe I should be saying—and doing—something else.

——[My next update will be July 11, 2011]——