The Long Haul

I need to rethink what I’m writing here. Too often I find myself with nothing more to report than that I’m still plugging away. In the long haul of improving one’s playing, it can’t be any other way. But it makes for uncompelling reading.

What bothers me is that there’s so little to see, hear, or read that seems apt to my situation. Much of the advice that’s been brought up is stuff I’ve seen and tried many times before. But I’m not convinced that there’s nothing out there. Rather, it’s simply that good information is drowned out by the noise. Guitar teaching is a small and fractious world in which the loudest and most self-serving often rise to the top. To be sure, a few good people get there too. But their example is lost in the din of those who continually thump their own tubs. (A good example is the concert artist who attaches registered trademarks to his teaching methods—this is someone who long ago lost touch with keeping the ego in check.)

Speaking of humility, nothing so sharpens it as very publicly announcing a goal and then very conspicuously falling short of it. Honestly, I really believed I’d have more to show after a year and five months of work. I’ve learned much, and I think I’m a better teacher for it. I’ve even thought of distilling this blog to the things I believe are essential to right hand speed. But I’m brought up short by the very pertinent fact that I’ve not yet succeeded. It seems premature to say that I’m sure of anything. Actually I am sure of some things, but without the goods, I’ve no authority on which to stand in saying it. Absent accomplishment, I’m just another guy talking who can’t back it up. We’ve enough of that in the guitar world.

Going forward, I want to find and identify those who really know what they’re doing. Then, in a nutshell, I want to describe the barrier I’m running into and see if they have anything good to tell me. In doing this, I want to avoid the usual suspects: those whose reputations are built on résumés and hot air.

Exactly how will I go about this? I’ve no idea. But embarking on a journey without a map seems to suit me.

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Today I was reading an article about Julian Bream, who I regard as the finest concert guitarist of the 20th century. Talking about his retirement from concert life, he said the following:

“But I still have a daily routine—scales and arpeggios, a couple of Villa-Lobos studies and one or two of passages from the Concierto de Aranjuez or Britten’s Nocturnal—the ones that I never could play.”

It’s humbling to know that an artist of Bream’s caliber has things that elude his mastery. But I take inspiration from his determination to keep chipping away at his flaws.

——[My next update will be May 27, 2012]——

It’s a Virtue—Or So I’m Told

My apologies for posting a day late. Sunday was a Mother’s Day, so it was busier than usual.

I’ve hit a wall. Or maybe it’s better described as a giant cotton bale. Unlike a wall, a cotton bale gives a little. You push, it gives. You push a little more, it gives a little less. You keep pushing harder, it keeps giving less. And then, finally, it stops giving at all. At that point, it might as well be a brick wall. But at least it was soft enough initially to make the impact a comfortable one.

Comfortable or not, I’m not getting anywhere by repeatedly flinging myself against the bale. I’m backing up and going back to basics. For the first half hour of my practice sessions, I’m doing i & m alternation very slowly—roughly two hits per click at 70. Throughout this, I’m carefully observing both the feel (a and c should feel light and easy, as though they’re not there) and the look (a-c should move with m at all times). I’ve done this before, but I believe I’ve been too impatient in the past. I’ve sped up too soon, without having the correct movement and feel so deeply ingrained that they stay correct at any speed. Patience—a virtue I’ve not had in abundance—is now my mantra.

During the second half hour I’m working on two Bach Inventions: Nos. 4 & 8. (They’re guitar duet transcriptions.) Both require much alternation, and I prefer to do most of it rest stroke. So they’re good pieces with which to try out what I practiced in the first half hour. At no time to I go any faster than where I can maintain correct movement and feel. Along with the Inventions, I’m also slowly playing through El Colibri. This morning I got it up to four notes per click at 60. Again, however, there’s no rush in this. Whatever time it needs to settle in, I’ll give it.

By the way, another reason I’m using the Bach Inventions is that I’m having a student work up four of them. I’ve told her that this summer I want us to record them so I can post them on my web site. I’ll include some text that gives a little background on the Bach Inventions. (I’ve done something similar before. If you haven’t already seen it, here’s a link to my recordings and text on Fernando Sor’s Op. 44bis.) That will give my student something to shoot for. Not coincidentally, it’ll also give me something to work at. Her rest stroke alternation is already better than mine. So I better keep up.

Patiently, of course.

——[My next update will be May 20, 2012]——

New Day, Same Old Right Hand

The student recital was yesterday. Unfortunately no video is forthcoming—the sound on the recording I made is virtually inaudible. On the bright side, my students played well. I was particularly pleased that the two students who had pieces with right hand alternation had little trouble pulling it off in front of an audience.

My right hand, however, didn’t do so well. Clearly it’s not ready for prime time. While I’m disappointed, I’m not surprised. All along I’ve tinkered with turning the modest improvement in the practice room into a performance ready technique. It hasn’t happened yet. So I need to focus more on getting my right hand off the lift and onto the road. A technique that works only when there’s no pressure is no technique at all.

During my practice sessions, I’ll concentrate more on recreating the pressure of a performance. One way to do this is something I (and other teachers) do with students. I often have students repeat a difficult passage ten times. On the tenth time, there’s a rule: if you make a mistake, you have to repeat the passage ten more times. The idea here is to become accustomed to the “one and done” pressure of playing for an audience. It also has the side benefit of putting extra repetitions where they’re most needed.

I’ll also start playing more for my students—briefly, of course, as I don’t want to cut into their lesson time for my own benefit. Actually, a little of this is good for students. When they see their teacher working to improve, they tend to take their own practice more seriously.

Most important is that I need to pin down and consistently recreate the mindset that improves my right hand. I’m struggling with a mind and body that’s deeply accustomed to doing things a certain way. If I’m extremely careful in the practice room, I can just barely spark a flicker of a new way of thinking and doing. But this new way is incredibly tenuous. Any little thing can snuff it out. The pressure of playing before an audience can destroy it, leaving me to the same old mindset and reflexes that get me nowhere.

Teaching an old dog new tricks: it’s funny how an old cliché takes on deeper resonance when one lives it oneself.

——[My next update will be May 13, 2012]——