Piano advice: stay within yourself
“As artists we are on a continual quest to get closer to the universe by getting closer to ourselves.”
—Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being
“Why should you be a second-rate Ravel when you can be a first-rate Gershwin?”
That was Maurice Ravel’s famous question to George Gershwin when Gershwin asked about studying with him. Ravel’s words are timeless because they speak to one of the most basic traps many of us fall into: trying to make ourselves into someone we’re not. It starts early—competition with other players, admiration for pianists we wish to emulate, or perhaps teachers who tell us that there’s just one way to play a piece (their way). And so we attempt to play repertoire that’s too difficult—or just doesn’t suit us—because we think we should. We distrust our own understanding of the music we play and settle for second-hand interpretations. We essentially give away our uniqueness and power in search of an elusive mirage. In other words, we try to be second-rate Others rather than developing into first-rate Selves.
One of the most valuable things I learned when I took a few jazz lessons years ago was this phrase: Stay Within Yourself. I applied that advice to the way I improvised and soloed, but the wisdom of these words soon spilled over into my classical playing and the rest of my life. Stay within yourself. Don’t try to be what you’re not.
This—as with all pithy advice—is easier said than done. If considered long enough, it forces us to look inward and ask, what, exactly, is my self? What are my strengths and weaknesses—at the piano and in life? What is my unique life vision? How can I work within myself to share this vision with others? And, because we are all changing, how can I stay within the self I am today, not the self I was yesterday?
Another challenge arises when we stay within ourselves but don’t trust or appreciate what we’re able to create. We play a piece to the best of our ability, and before the notes have faded, the ego steps in and reminds us that X, Y, and Z played it better, or that we missed a few notes, or that we only played it well because it was easy and anyone else could play it better. At this point we have two choices—listen to that inner critic, or embrace our uniqueness. When we choose the former, we’re blown off course. If we’re brave enough to choose the latter, we can begin to dig deeper into our own musical voice and to accept that, as Rick Rubin wrote,
“Sometimes the mistakes are what makes a work great. Humanity breathes in mistakes.”
Staying within ourselves allows us to do the best we can with what we’ve been given, and it reminds us that nothing more is needed. After all, was Thelonious Monk a great classical pianist? Does Bob Dylan have a perfect voice? No and No. The more important question is this: did both of them communicate something personal, unique, and potentially life changing through their music? Yes and yes. Like them or loathe them, they’re both instantly recognizable, and their music is beloved by multiple generations of fans. Their music speaks and had they tried to be second-rate others, we wouldn’t know their names today.
Staying within ourselves encompasses all of our lives, not just the time we spend at the piano. Clues about who we are as artists (and people) lie all around us. One glance at our listening playlists, for instance, will tell us what kind of music we’re drawn to and what best matches our own vision of the world. Trusted mentors and guides are also invaluable sources of information. I know, for instance, that I never would have created a dual career as a writer and a pianist had my mentor, Jill Timmons, not seen that path in me. Through the literature we read, the art we expose ourselves to, and the company we keep, we expand (or contract) our creative worlds, very often discovering clues about ourselves and our unique musical gifts where we least expect them.
Ultimately “staying within ourselves” is gut knowledge. When the ego is quieted, the advice of others assimilated, our musical and life experiences distilled, we can hear the still, small voice of our true selves. This is our bedrock of truth, and when we play from that place—regardless of how complex or simple the notes may be—we connect with the deep truth in other people. No longer second-rate Others, but first-rate Selves.
Photo by Neshaam Ahmed, courtesy of UpSplash