During the last week there were times when I played the Carulli Fandango and then thought to myself “I wish I had the camera running.” Sometimes it went very well. You should’ve heard me last Thursday morning. Don’t believe me? That’s okay, I probably wouldn’t believe your story about the one that got away either.
Of course, for the video included with this post, the Fandango went so-so. I’ve little patience with video equipment, and I wanted to do a “one and done” shoot. The first take went okay, and included a shot of my cat Fiona, who was indifferent to the whole process. But viewing the video, I found the sound level to be terribly off. I tried different camera locations and settings, all for naught. By the time I shot the video you’ll see below, I was disgusted with the process and wanted to be done with it. So don’t expect a cheerful rendering. Maybe I should experiment with the camera a bit more, so next time I’ll be able to set up and shoot much faster. But don’t count on it. Néstor Almendros I’m not.
At the moment, I’m ambivalent about where I am. On the bright side, my right hand feels strong, much stronger than it’s ever felt before. You know how players like John Williams or Pepe Romero can fill a hall with a big sound? My hand is starting to feel like that. If your right hand is lying on the beach, my right hand will kick sand in its face. On the bad side, my rest stroke alternation is still very slow. How slow? Sunday I played a gig, and had to do all alternation with i and a. My i and m alternation just wasn’t working.
So a mixed bag. Today’s a holiday, and I don’t feel like writing. On top of that, “Blogger” was a real headache to work with today—for some reason, it wouldn’t let me embed my video directly to this post the way I have in the past. (I finally figured out another way.) So I’ll let my video tell the story.
Sorry you couldn’t meet Fiona.
——[My next update will be June 6, 2011]——
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Long Slow Trek to Speed
One might assume from some of my posts that I’m ready to pull the plug on my project and stick my head in a microwave. Certainly rest stroke alternation continues its maddening elusiveness. But a new optimism, albeit tempered, is creeping to the fore, and it’s coming from the part of my project that I’ve tended to downplay. With all my attention to alternation, it’s easy to forget that I’m also working on right hand arpeggios. And when it comes to noticeable progress, arpeggios are now where the action is.
To be sure, the progress is more a matter of feel rather than measurable results. But ever so gradually my hand is beginning to feel stronger and more controlled. I’m now convinced that at least part of my quest for speed is a quest for more finger strength. This wasn’t what I thought when I began. Indeed, if you’ve followed my project from the beginning, you’ll recall me vilifying the brute force approach to technique. But my work to this point has slowly brought into focus a barrier that won’t yield solely to finesse. And the deeper I go into this project, the more inclined I am to explore ideas that initially repelled me.
I don’t want to imply that I now believe brute force is the answer. Finesse still has pride of place in right hand technique, if for no other reason than it’s music that I’m trying to make. Nonetheless, there’s an athletic aspect to making music, and there’s no point in pretending my right hand can meet my goals without building more coordinated strength.
For the last week, I’ve begun each session with a few minutes of finger push-ups. I then begin at a slow metronome setting—for the last few days, 80—and play forte the first variation of Guardame, two eighth notes per click. If I hit every note cleanly, I then up the tempo one click. On Friday, I worked from 80 to 138 in my thirty minute alternation session. That upper metronome mark is pretty much my limit right now. (Translating this to four notes per click, my current rest stroke alternation speed is roughly 60—remember, my goal is 184.) In deference to my right shoulder, after every repetition I relax my right arm for about five or ten seconds. So far my shoulder hasn’t felt any worse. I find this encouraging.
Why the slow practice? I’m taking to heart something that concert guitarist Jason Vieaux does when learning a difficult passage. At some point, he’ll do what he calls “running the tempos.” He’ll begin the passage at a tempo where he can easily hit every note accurately and confidently. Then, one click at a time, he’ll increase the tempo one click at a time. He’ll resist the temptation to jump over a handful of clicks to get to his target tempo. His reasoning is thus: at some point along the way, he may encounter a problem that didn’t appear at a slower tempo. By upping the tempo gradually, he can meet this problem at a speed where he can readily identify it, work out a solution, and apply it. If, however, he skipped over tempos in a rush to get the passage up to speed, he’d skip past the point where he might have more easily found the problem and solved it.
To be clear, I’ve never heard Vieaux recommend this as a way to develop right hand speed. That’s my spin on his approach. But just yesterday I met with a former student who’s now studying at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore. We’d just heard a concert by the Beijing Guitar Duo. Both Meng Su and Yameng Wang are very formidable players, and both are also studying at Peabody. My student mentioned that Meng Su, who can easily rip through fast scales, spends a lot of practice time playing at the very slowest metronome setting. For me, the evidence is growing that, if I want to increase my right hand speed, it’s best to sneak up on it from below.
By the way, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that this is very much what the anonymous commentator recommended on my February 12 post. I’m now inclined to think that, whoever he or she is, this commentator speaks wisely.
My arpeggio practice goes very much in the same way, where I begin at a slow tempo and work up notch by notch. All my arpeggio practice is with prepared stroke (or planting). Not everyone agrees with prepared stroke. One criticism is that players who learn arpeggios through prepared stroke often develop erratic rhythm. Guitarists usually describe this as a “galloping” rhythm. Here’s a visual illustration:
In the second example, notice how the second and third notes are bunched together. Interestingly, it’s usually the more independent i and m fingers that produce the gallop.
The critics of prepared stroke have a point. I often hear this galloping rhythm among guitarists—indeed, it plagues my own playing. But I have a ready reply to this criticism. (You might want to write this down.) Don’t gallop. That’s it. Sounds easy, but in practice one must be vigilant. As I practice this arpeggio, I listen carefully for any rhythmic flaws. If I can do the above example with a consistently even rhythm, then I’m ready to bump up the tempo. If I can’t, then I stay with it until the gallop is gone.
For my end of May video report, I’m still planning to include a performance of the Carulli Fandango. Currently, it comes and goes. I hope I’ll be able to post a worthy performance.
I’d like to close with a response to the following comment:
Through all the minutiae of finger mechanics, I’m mindful of the higher goal. Dukic and a few others I admire are there. Much as I’d like to be there with them, I’ve more earthbound problems to solve before I can set foot in their realm.
——[My next post will be on May 30, 2011.]——
To be sure, the progress is more a matter of feel rather than measurable results. But ever so gradually my hand is beginning to feel stronger and more controlled. I’m now convinced that at least part of my quest for speed is a quest for more finger strength. This wasn’t what I thought when I began. Indeed, if you’ve followed my project from the beginning, you’ll recall me vilifying the brute force approach to technique. But my work to this point has slowly brought into focus a barrier that won’t yield solely to finesse. And the deeper I go into this project, the more inclined I am to explore ideas that initially repelled me.
I don’t want to imply that I now believe brute force is the answer. Finesse still has pride of place in right hand technique, if for no other reason than it’s music that I’m trying to make. Nonetheless, there’s an athletic aspect to making music, and there’s no point in pretending my right hand can meet my goals without building more coordinated strength.
For the last week, I’ve begun each session with a few minutes of finger push-ups. I then begin at a slow metronome setting—for the last few days, 80—and play forte the first variation of Guardame, two eighth notes per click. If I hit every note cleanly, I then up the tempo one click. On Friday, I worked from 80 to 138 in my thirty minute alternation session. That upper metronome mark is pretty much my limit right now. (Translating this to four notes per click, my current rest stroke alternation speed is roughly 60—remember, my goal is 184.) In deference to my right shoulder, after every repetition I relax my right arm for about five or ten seconds. So far my shoulder hasn’t felt any worse. I find this encouraging.
Why the slow practice? I’m taking to heart something that concert guitarist Jason Vieaux does when learning a difficult passage. At some point, he’ll do what he calls “running the tempos.” He’ll begin the passage at a tempo where he can easily hit every note accurately and confidently. Then, one click at a time, he’ll increase the tempo one click at a time. He’ll resist the temptation to jump over a handful of clicks to get to his target tempo. His reasoning is thus: at some point along the way, he may encounter a problem that didn’t appear at a slower tempo. By upping the tempo gradually, he can meet this problem at a speed where he can readily identify it, work out a solution, and apply it. If, however, he skipped over tempos in a rush to get the passage up to speed, he’d skip past the point where he might have more easily found the problem and solved it.
To be clear, I’ve never heard Vieaux recommend this as a way to develop right hand speed. That’s my spin on his approach. But just yesterday I met with a former student who’s now studying at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore. We’d just heard a concert by the Beijing Guitar Duo. Both Meng Su and Yameng Wang are very formidable players, and both are also studying at Peabody. My student mentioned that Meng Su, who can easily rip through fast scales, spends a lot of practice time playing at the very slowest metronome setting. For me, the evidence is growing that, if I want to increase my right hand speed, it’s best to sneak up on it from below.
By the way, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that this is very much what the anonymous commentator recommended on my February 12 post. I’m now inclined to think that, whoever he or she is, this commentator speaks wisely.
My arpeggio practice goes very much in the same way, where I begin at a slow tempo and work up notch by notch. All my arpeggio practice is with prepared stroke (or planting). Not everyone agrees with prepared stroke. One criticism is that players who learn arpeggios through prepared stroke often develop erratic rhythm. Guitarists usually describe this as a “galloping” rhythm. Here’s a visual illustration:
The critics of prepared stroke have a point. I often hear this galloping rhythm among guitarists—indeed, it plagues my own playing. But I have a ready reply to this criticism. (You might want to write this down.) Don’t gallop. That’s it. Sounds easy, but in practice one must be vigilant. As I practice this arpeggio, I listen carefully for any rhythmic flaws. If I can do the above example with a consistently even rhythm, then I’m ready to bump up the tempo. If I can’t, then I stay with it until the gallop is gone.
For my end of May video report, I’m still planning to include a performance of the Carulli Fandango. Currently, it comes and goes. I hope I’ll be able to post a worthy performance.
I’d like to close with a response to the following comment:
“We come to the guitar to play music, not just to play the guitar.” What you are doing now has nothing to do with music.—KM, Alabama, USALast night I attended a recital by Zoran Dukic. This was my first time hearing him live, and I was thoroughly taken with his playing. Even tuning up, he sounded musical. By no means would I peg him as the finest technician I’ve ever heard. He’s no slouch, but I’ve heard better finger wigglers. But his performance reminded me of why I play the guitar. In the right hands, the guitar has a poetic voice no other instrument can match.
Through all the minutiae of finger mechanics, I’m mindful of the higher goal. Dukic and a few others I admire are there. Much as I’d like to be there with them, I’ve more earthbound problems to solve before I can set foot in their realm.
——[My next post will be on May 30, 2011.]——
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Lifting the Cow
There’s an adage: if you lift a baby cow every day as it grows, you’ll eventually be able to lift it when it’s an adult. The idea is that from one day to the next, the cow doesn’t gain much weight. So if you can lift it one day, then you should be able to lift it the next day. And the next, and the next, until it’s full grown. This idea harks back to Milo of Croton, an ancient Greek wrestler who supposedly did this with an ox. He’s also said to have tried to tear apart a tree with his bare hands, got his hand stuck, and was devoured by wolves. A painter happened by—at first he wanted to help, but his artistic sense got the better of him and he instead documented the scene:
...which leaves us with two lessons: 1) If you’re being killed in a visually spectacular way, don’t expect a painter to help you. 2) Wrestlers are questionable role models.
Nonetheless, I’m taking a tip from Milo. This last week I began my right hand alternation sessions with two minutes of finger push-ups. Then, with the metronome at 40, I played the first variation of Guardame, two eighth notes per click. At this tempo, my hand feels wonderful, for the obvious reason that it’s too damn slow for anything bad to happen. Then I moved the metronome speed up one notch and played again. Within the thirty minute alternation part of my right hand session, I usually ended at a metronome setting of 100, two notes per click. This works out to a right hand alternation speed of four notes per click at 50—remember, my goal is 184. So clearly I’ve got a bit of explaining to do.
First, remember that my shoulder began kicking up earlier this month. I’m trying to edge away from practice that could put me out of commission. Second, however, is something I’ve noticed when practicing arpeggios. When I begin arpeggios slowly, my hand feels fine. Even as I inch up the tempo, my hand continues to feel okay. But as the tempo increases some more, the good feeling evaporates, replaced with a tightness that grows as the tempo rises. Finally, at a kind of tipping point, my fingers abruptly switch to an easy sympathetic movement, the same feel you get when quickly rolling a chord with successive fingers.
What intrigues me is the awkward transition between the slow and the fast movements. Can I gradually dissipate this tense transition, so that at every point of a gradual accelerando, my hand moves easily? It seems a worthwhile idea, and since my balky shoulder is forcing me to try something different, I’ll give it a go.
I’m aware there’s a school of thought that says if you want to learn to play fast, then you must practice fast. I tend to agree. Fast playing isn’t simply slow playing done faster. There’s a feel to speed that can’t be duplicated in slow practice. But here I’m doing something very deliberate and specific. I’m beginning with the easy feel of slow playing, and trying to move that easy feel up the hill so I can maintain it at a gradually faster tempo. I believe a good right hand feels easy across the entire tempo spectrum. I’m also taking to heart what Colin Davin told me: he never worked on speed—rather, he worked on good technique, and speed was the by-product. (I’ve seen this kind of advice in other areas of musicianship. For example, concert artist Jason Vieaux says that if you learn a piece correctly, you get the memorization for free.) Guitar playing isn’t a hodgepodge of disconnected skills. Ultimately, everything affects everything else. So while there’s a place for practicing fast to get fast, there’s also a place for practicing slow to lay the foundation for fast.
On the bright side, my shoulder feels no worse now then it did last week. Further, my arpeggios, though they come and go, seem better than when I began this project. I’m still shooting for a video performance of the Carulli Fandango at the end of May.
——[My next post will be on May 23, 2011.]——

Nonetheless, I’m taking a tip from Milo. This last week I began my right hand alternation sessions with two minutes of finger push-ups. Then, with the metronome at 40, I played the first variation of Guardame, two eighth notes per click. At this tempo, my hand feels wonderful, for the obvious reason that it’s too damn slow for anything bad to happen. Then I moved the metronome speed up one notch and played again. Within the thirty minute alternation part of my right hand session, I usually ended at a metronome setting of 100, two notes per click. This works out to a right hand alternation speed of four notes per click at 50—remember, my goal is 184. So clearly I’ve got a bit of explaining to do.
First, remember that my shoulder began kicking up earlier this month. I’m trying to edge away from practice that could put me out of commission. Second, however, is something I’ve noticed when practicing arpeggios. When I begin arpeggios slowly, my hand feels fine. Even as I inch up the tempo, my hand continues to feel okay. But as the tempo increases some more, the good feeling evaporates, replaced with a tightness that grows as the tempo rises. Finally, at a kind of tipping point, my fingers abruptly switch to an easy sympathetic movement, the same feel you get when quickly rolling a chord with successive fingers.
What intrigues me is the awkward transition between the slow and the fast movements. Can I gradually dissipate this tense transition, so that at every point of a gradual accelerando, my hand moves easily? It seems a worthwhile idea, and since my balky shoulder is forcing me to try something different, I’ll give it a go.
I’m aware there’s a school of thought that says if you want to learn to play fast, then you must practice fast. I tend to agree. Fast playing isn’t simply slow playing done faster. There’s a feel to speed that can’t be duplicated in slow practice. But here I’m doing something very deliberate and specific. I’m beginning with the easy feel of slow playing, and trying to move that easy feel up the hill so I can maintain it at a gradually faster tempo. I believe a good right hand feels easy across the entire tempo spectrum. I’m also taking to heart what Colin Davin told me: he never worked on speed—rather, he worked on good technique, and speed was the by-product. (I’ve seen this kind of advice in other areas of musicianship. For example, concert artist Jason Vieaux says that if you learn a piece correctly, you get the memorization for free.) Guitar playing isn’t a hodgepodge of disconnected skills. Ultimately, everything affects everything else. So while there’s a place for practicing fast to get fast, there’s also a place for practicing slow to lay the foundation for fast.
On the bright side, my shoulder feels no worse now then it did last week. Further, my arpeggios, though they come and go, seem better than when I began this project. I’m still shooting for a video performance of the Carulli Fandango at the end of May.
——[My next post will be on May 23, 2011.]——
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Elusive Ineffable
That didn’t take long. After one week of my new approach, my right shoulder is starting to hurt. Oh well, game over. I’m closing down my right hand project and sleeping in an extra hour every weekday morning. Sorry to have wasted your time.
Okay, not to worry. I’m not giving up yet. In fact, I’ve been down this road before. The last time I tried reworking my right hand, I had put in the same amount of time when my shoulder gave out. And I was doing roughly the same thing I’m trying now: playing loud rest strokes to gain strength in my fingers. Back then, however, I was playing continuous alternation for sometimes ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch. This time I know better. So the soreness I’m feeling now isn’t enough to make me stop. But it is enough to make me reconsider.
Again. (Sigh.)
For the upcoming week, I’ll ease off speed and do alternation and arpeggios slowly. And I’ll try to turn the slow work to my advantage. I’ve long sensed there’s a delicate balance between tension and relaxation. When I play lightly, my hand feels great, but my rhythmic accuracy suffers. Conversely when I play harder, my rhythmic accuracy snaps into focus, but my tension shoots up and my speed grinds to a crawl. None of this is a revelation. But perhaps I’ve been going too far in one direction or the other, and need to find a middle ground that thus far has escaped my notice. It’s a theory anyway. Since speed is temporarily off limits, I might as well look into something else, however tenuous it may be.
Throughout this project, I’m struck by how often the things I’m doing and pursuing are so hard to describe. (It reminds me of the old philosophical conundrum: can you prove to someone else that you’re conscious?) The problem lies in describing what is, now and always, an internal state. I can assume what I feel is hardly unique, and thus familiar to anyone. But in the end, I’m always guessing and can never know if I’m getting across to anyone what I’m experiencing.
Some of the responses to my project, in fact, suggest I’m not doing a good job of describing why I can’t do right hand speed. For example, I’m still getting advice about how I’m holding the guitar. This is a matter I thought I’d adequately explained—certainly I know it’s not a factor in solving my problem. And yet the guitar position advice keeps coming. I’m particularly mystified by one who asserted that my shoulders aren’t correctly positioned. Try as I might, when I look at the videos I’ve posted, I can’t see how anyone would draw this conclusion.
If my project accomplishes anything, I hope it suggests how careful a teacher has to be when taking on the problems of another person. People vary in their ability to pin down and describe a problem. A student struggling to describe something unfamiliar and ineffable might draw a blank. Teachers must take care to really understand what the student is struggling to say. We tend to be enamored with our favorite insights. It’s all too easy to fall into a rut of time-hardened bromides that have nothing to do with a particular student’s problem.
I don’t slight the difficulty of describing the ineffable. Obviously I haven’t entirely succeeded at it myself. But I rather like mixing the grand with the hum-drum. I’ve a philosophical conundrum to ponder as I tackle the more prosaic matter of building a better right hand.
——[My next post will be on May 16, 2011.]——
Okay, not to worry. I’m not giving up yet. In fact, I’ve been down this road before. The last time I tried reworking my right hand, I had put in the same amount of time when my shoulder gave out. And I was doing roughly the same thing I’m trying now: playing loud rest strokes to gain strength in my fingers. Back then, however, I was playing continuous alternation for sometimes ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch. This time I know better. So the soreness I’m feeling now isn’t enough to make me stop. But it is enough to make me reconsider.
Again. (Sigh.)
For the upcoming week, I’ll ease off speed and do alternation and arpeggios slowly. And I’ll try to turn the slow work to my advantage. I’ve long sensed there’s a delicate balance between tension and relaxation. When I play lightly, my hand feels great, but my rhythmic accuracy suffers. Conversely when I play harder, my rhythmic accuracy snaps into focus, but my tension shoots up and my speed grinds to a crawl. None of this is a revelation. But perhaps I’ve been going too far in one direction or the other, and need to find a middle ground that thus far has escaped my notice. It’s a theory anyway. Since speed is temporarily off limits, I might as well look into something else, however tenuous it may be.
Throughout this project, I’m struck by how often the things I’m doing and pursuing are so hard to describe. (It reminds me of the old philosophical conundrum: can you prove to someone else that you’re conscious?) The problem lies in describing what is, now and always, an internal state. I can assume what I feel is hardly unique, and thus familiar to anyone. But in the end, I’m always guessing and can never know if I’m getting across to anyone what I’m experiencing.
Some of the responses to my project, in fact, suggest I’m not doing a good job of describing why I can’t do right hand speed. For example, I’m still getting advice about how I’m holding the guitar. This is a matter I thought I’d adequately explained—certainly I know it’s not a factor in solving my problem. And yet the guitar position advice keeps coming. I’m particularly mystified by one who asserted that my shoulders aren’t correctly positioned. Try as I might, when I look at the videos I’ve posted, I can’t see how anyone would draw this conclusion.
If my project accomplishes anything, I hope it suggests how careful a teacher has to be when taking on the problems of another person. People vary in their ability to pin down and describe a problem. A student struggling to describe something unfamiliar and ineffable might draw a blank. Teachers must take care to really understand what the student is struggling to say. We tend to be enamored with our favorite insights. It’s all too easy to fall into a rut of time-hardened bromides that have nothing to do with a particular student’s problem.
I don’t slight the difficulty of describing the ineffable. Obviously I haven’t entirely succeeded at it myself. But I rather like mixing the grand with the hum-drum. I’ve a philosophical conundrum to ponder as I tackle the more prosaic matter of building a better right hand.
——[My next post will be on May 16, 2011.]——
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Reboot
I’ve been at this project four months, and my rest stroke alternation is no better than it was when I started. I suppose I could keep plugging away at what I’ve been doing. But at some point one has to make a concession to the shortness of human life. What I’ve done so far hasn’t worked, so it’s time to try something else.
Here’s a radical thought. Why not practice right hand alternation with music? You know, that pretty melodic stuff we hum as we go about our day? Wouldn’t that be a pleasant change of pace? And if I actually improve my right hand alternation, I’ll be doing it with, you know, real music. How nice that would be.
With that in mind, I’ve dusted off this old warhorse:
Guardame las vacas has several things to recommend it. It’s a standard right hand student piece, so anything I learn while practicing it becomes something I can use to help my students. Further, the scale passages are longer than a speed burst (remember, I’m increasingly skeptical of speed bursts), but have just enough breaks to avoid overworking my right shoulder. I also like that it has a bit of string crossing, but not enough to be a huge problem. Finally, I really enjoy playing it.
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. But since I don’t yet have good right hand alternation speed, it’s a bit presumptuous to say what is and isn’t an issue. So I’ll defer making any assertions for now.
Speaking of Guardame, here’s something intriguing. Some years ago one of my students played it in a student recital at the Cleveland Institute of Music. After the recital, someone from the audience—not a guitarist—told me how much she enjoyed my student’s performance of “Greensleeves.” Taken aback, I politely corrected her and told her the actual title of the piece. "Really?" she replied, "it sounds just like Greensleeves." I thought for a moment, and to my surprise she was right. The harmonic progressions of both Greensleeves and Guardame are virtually identical. Maybe musical historians are already aware of this, but I wasn’t.
I intend to begin each practice session with very slow playing of the first variation of Guardame. And by slow, I mean glacially slow—anything faster feels awful right now. Further, I’m going to focus on the feel rather than the appearance. If it feels good, do it. (I’m harking back to my “child of the 60’s” roots.) My goal is to find a good feel while playing real music, then ingrain it through repetition. I also suspect my raw finger strength might be a problem. So I’m going to revisit the “finger push-ups” described in an earlier post. Perhaps I now better understand their purpose.
An aside to those who wag their finger at me for using rest stroke in a renaissance piece. Yes, I know I’ll burn in hell. Now go away and leave me alone.
On a more general note, it still mystifies me that rest stroke alternation is such an elusive thing. But it does help explain at least some of the controversy surrounding rest stroke. From time to time, there are claims that free stroke can do everything that rest stroke can do, and thus rest stroke is unnecessary. Such claims are false, and there’s nothing quite so contentious as a debate between those who claim it’s so and those who claim it’s not. But if one can’t do rest stroke well, one might fool oneself into believing it’s unnecessary. Mind you, I make no charge of bad faith. I’ve no doubt these people honestly believe they’re on to something. Nonetheless, wrong is wrong, however honest it might be.
It’s time for another end of the month video report. I wish I had better things to show, but it is what it is. This video is very short: I play the Guardame variation very slow, and then it’s done. Also, I shot this video Sunday morning, and on Sunday mornings I refuse to do anything to make myself presentable. So if you have a weak stomach, consider yourself warned.
——[My next post will be on May 9, 2011.]——
Here’s a radical thought. Why not practice right hand alternation with music? You know, that pretty melodic stuff we hum as we go about our day? Wouldn’t that be a pleasant change of pace? And if I actually improve my right hand alternation, I’ll be doing it with, you know, real music. How nice that would be.
With that in mind, I’ve dusted off this old warhorse:
Guardame las vacas has several things to recommend it. It’s a standard right hand student piece, so anything I learn while practicing it becomes something I can use to help my students. Further, the scale passages are longer than a speed burst (remember, I’m increasingly skeptical of speed bursts), but have just enough breaks to avoid overworking my right shoulder. I also like that it has a bit of string crossing, but not enough to be a huge problem. Finally, I really enjoy playing it.
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. But since I don’t yet have good right hand alternation speed, it’s a bit presumptuous to say what is and isn’t an issue. So I’ll defer making any assertions for now.
Speaking of Guardame, here’s something intriguing. Some years ago one of my students played it in a student recital at the Cleveland Institute of Music. After the recital, someone from the audience—not a guitarist—told me how much she enjoyed my student’s performance of “Greensleeves.” Taken aback, I politely corrected her and told her the actual title of the piece. "Really?" she replied, "it sounds just like Greensleeves." I thought for a moment, and to my surprise she was right. The harmonic progressions of both Greensleeves and Guardame are virtually identical. Maybe musical historians are already aware of this, but I wasn’t.
I intend to begin each practice session with very slow playing of the first variation of Guardame. And by slow, I mean glacially slow—anything faster feels awful right now. Further, I’m going to focus on the feel rather than the appearance. If it feels good, do it. (I’m harking back to my “child of the 60’s” roots.) My goal is to find a good feel while playing real music, then ingrain it through repetition. I also suspect my raw finger strength might be a problem. So I’m going to revisit the “finger push-ups” described in an earlier post. Perhaps I now better understand their purpose.
An aside to those who wag their finger at me for using rest stroke in a renaissance piece. Yes, I know I’ll burn in hell. Now go away and leave me alone.
On a more general note, it still mystifies me that rest stroke alternation is such an elusive thing. But it does help explain at least some of the controversy surrounding rest stroke. From time to time, there are claims that free stroke can do everything that rest stroke can do, and thus rest stroke is unnecessary. Such claims are false, and there’s nothing quite so contentious as a debate between those who claim it’s so and those who claim it’s not. But if one can’t do rest stroke well, one might fool oneself into believing it’s unnecessary. Mind you, I make no charge of bad faith. I’ve no doubt these people honestly believe they’re on to something. Nonetheless, wrong is wrong, however honest it might be.
It’s time for another end of the month video report. I wish I had better things to show, but it is what it is. This video is very short: I play the Guardame variation very slow, and then it’s done. Also, I shot this video Sunday morning, and on Sunday mornings I refuse to do anything to make myself presentable. So if you have a weak stomach, consider yourself warned.
——[My next post will be on May 9, 2011.]——
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