10 Ways We Complicate Playing the Piano
Playing the piano isn’t difficult. Any household pet or falling object can get the keys to sound. Playing the piano musically, however, can be fiendishly difficult. Coordinating different rhythms between the hands (or many times, in the same hand), keeping track of pedaling, watching hand and finger positions, and navigating an enormous number of black and white notes—these challenges require us to split our focus in multiple directions in order to create music. It requires us to be extremely coordinated—to be small muscle athletes who are aware of our hands and bodies while never ceasing to listen deeply to the sound we’re creating. And, of course, we’re asked to do this as effortlessly as breathing.
Yet, as difficult as it is to play the piano musically, most of us become experts at adding more and more challenges to the task. At times it seems as if the job of every pianist is to not just learning to do things correctly, but unlearning all the ways we put stumbling blocks in our own way. These ten things are by no means a complete list of everything we do to make it harder to play the piano, but in my experience, they’re the most common. If you, like I, have discovered these traps sneaking into your practicing, perhaps together we can set about freeing ourselves from these self-imposed roadblocks.
Not checking in with the body
Everything affects how we play the piano—from hand position to how we’re sitting on the bench, to where we place our feet. This is why one of the first things I do when I suddenly can’t execute something I’ve been able to play before is check in with my body. I start with my feet. Are both feet planted on the ground? Am I holding tension anywhere in my legs, body, or arms? Is my bench the right height and am I the right distance from the keyboard? Are my shoulders riding up into my ears? Are my hands and fingers curved appropriately? These little things can throw off an entire performance. If I can’t discern what I’m doing, I ask a pianist friend to watch me play and help diagnose what they see. It’s remarkable how fixing one thing can fix everything.
Trying to learn a piece too quickly
Oh, ouch. This one still gets me in trouble. In my zeal to finish a piece, it’s easy to brush over details—details that then jump up and make it difficult for me to play a passage every time I run through the music. There’s no substitute for the “slow but steady” method of learning music.
Playing a piece that’s too hard for us
This is a tricky one because we become better pianists when we reach for music that makes us grow into new technique. We know we’ve overreached, however, when we try to play music that is several levels above what we’re capable of playing well. This is where I’ve had to train myself to admit that the piece I’m trying to learn is too difficult for me, and to choose music that’s realistically within my reach.
Not practicing enough
This is self-explanatory and those of us who learned early in life that we’re capable of “winging it” fairly successfully frequently fall prey to it. It took several spectacular musical smash-ups for me to break this habit (for good, I hope).
Not learning pieces in small chunks
As the old aphorism asks, “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” This also applies to learning music. When we try to gulp the entire piece (or huge bits of it) instead of patiently working our way through it one part at a time, we skip over details that eventually come back to haunt us later. Most of my poor fingering choices, or lack of attention to markings in the score can be traced to this problem.
Playing too fast
Fast is good (when required); too fast is a precursor to an unpleasant musical “crash and burn.” This gets us because there’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of playing right at the edge of our abilities. But the edge isn’t safe; it’s too easy to slip off and tumble into being out of control. It took me years to trust advice I was given in my 20s: play just below your fastest speed. That way, if nerves or adrenaline kick in, you have room to speed up a bit without losing control of the music.
Trying to make ourselves like a piece we don’t really like
I’ve written about this problem in other posts but it bears repeating: with all the wonderful music available to us as pianists, there’s no reason to ever play anything we don’t like. Yes, I’ve had times when I’ve been contracted to learn a piece I never would have picked up on my own, but in each of those instances, I spent time finding moments and passages in the music that I enjoyed. In doing so, I was motivated to learn it and to bring out its beauty.
Believing old mental scripts
Somewhere in my distant past I got the idea that I couldn’t play fast enough. That misconception pushed me to rush too much, and to play fast passages at dangerous speeds. It can be helpful to list all the negative things we believe about our playing. Study each problem seriously, ask where it came from, and then ask the most important question: is it true of my playing today? Anything that still applies can be worked on, and we can throw out all the scripts that no longer apply.
Trying to fit the mold of what we think others wish to see in our playing
I was one of those “good student” personalities. Not only did I want to incorporate every suggestion I received from teachers I respected, I tried to anticipate (and provide) what I thought they wanted. When I stopped taking lessons, I transferred my mind-reading efforts to my listeners. It wasn’t until I incorporated all the training I was given but then chose to speak the music in my own voice that I became a grownup pianist. That was the moment I realized what my teachers wanted all along—to offer me things that would make my ideas shine brighter, not to superimpose their own on my artistic personality.
Trying to be a different pianist than who we are
There are many composers I love who do not love me back. When I play their music, they just don’t let me into the heart of their pieces, no matter how much diligent work I put into learning the score. It took me years to realize that trying to be a second-rate interpreter of a composer whose music I don’t play well was a waste of my abilities as a pianist. Now, when I search for new repertoire, I seek composers who are kindred spirits.
Finding (and removing) self-imposed roadblocks is a lifelong task. An adult beginner I taught years ago summed it up best when, after a month of lessons, she told me, “The most difficult thing about this is that I have to face the truth of myself every time I sit down to practice.” None of us, no matter how accomplished, can escape facing our strengths and weaknesses when we play. That’s why the most important tool we all have in diagnosing and removing obstacles is self-examination and a commitment to accepting the truth of what we find (no matter how painful or annoying). That’s when we have the ability to let go of what limits us, and that’s when we learn to musically soar.