The Internet has covered a lot of off-the-wall topics since Al Gore gave it to us decades ago.
Bacon taped on a cat.
Bluhd ("not funny!").
Fail!
"My-lah-HEE! My-lah-HOO! My-la-HA-HA!"
(You choose your own 15 minute phenomenon.)
But never in the history of the Interwebs have these three topics mashed into a cohesive whole. I will now attempt to rectify this unfortunate gap in our collective consciousness.
I am told, from those who know considerably more about it than I do*, that piloting a hot air balloon requires two things: careful attention to detail, and the ability to plan well in advance. The reasons for this are few and simple. First, you only have so many controls at your disposal. You can add heat to the balloon to increase lift. The same effect can be derived by reducing weight, which requires throwing things or occupants out of the basket**. Your other control is to do nothing, thereby gradually cooling the balloon, and decreasing lift. That's it. That's all you got. Otherwise, you are at the mercy of the wind, updrafts / downdrafts, or rope tethering you to the ground.
* - I know basically nothing about this, so it wouldn't be hard to find someone who knew more.
** - Is that what they call it? I wanted to use the word "Canopy" here, but I couldn't pull the trigger on it. See, I told you I know very little about this.
The main difficulty here, and the thing that requires careful planning, is that any adjustments you make on these controls take quite some time to manifest themselves. Depending on conditions, it may be 30 seconds, perhaps even a minute before you notice any change in the balloon's behavior. Novices, then, tend to over-correct course, out of fear that they didn't do enough. This can be a little dangerous, as once a balloon builds momentum in a certain direction, it tends to maintain it. Extreme corrections will produce extreme results, just not right away. An expert balloon pilot, like an expert automobile driver, politician, surgeon, teacher, athlete, or what have you, gets the job done effortlessly, with few adjustments and a keen eye on subtle results.
I have a weight loss / fitness level theory based on the concept of piloting a hot air balloon. Over the years, I have tried to foist this theory onto my poor wife about a dozen times. As an Exercise Science major in college, she is significantly better informed on this topic, which makes her approval of my thoughts and ideas in this space very important to me. So the fact that I have yet to get her to buy into my theory is a little deflating*, I must say.
* - Heh. See what I did there?
Anyway, my theory goes like this: losing weight (and achieving a desired fitness level) works just like piloting a hot air balloon. There are only so many adjustments you can make. The course corrections you implement take longer to manifest themselves than you'd think. Folks can think that their efforts are in vain, and give up before results should have been expected. You see the parallel here, I hope. The most important thing is to stick with the plan, then make subtle adjustments downstream as necessary. Because once positive momentum is obtained, it actually isn't that much tougher to keep it going in the right direction.
The corollary is that this works both ways, of course. Negative behavior patterns may not manifest themselves immediately, either, but it's the negative momentum you generate that is the bigger problem. One day sitting on the couch* makes sitting on the couch the next day just that much easier. Skip a day on the treadmill, and the next day is much more likely to be skipped. Eat badly one day, and you may as well have those potato chips the next day, too, what does it matter? And so on.
* - We need a new metaphor here. I know of nobody who actually sits on couches, by the way. We have four couches in our house, and they go pretty much unused. Recliners, on the other hand...
Now to piano. Works the exact same way. I don't believe single practice sessions, single lessons, or even learning single pieces of music make a measurable impact in my ability to play the instrument. It's the cumulative effect that does the trick. And the effect is not easily observed. In fact, not at all observable at first (at least, not for me, anymore). But the day-to-day improvement, derived from consistent contact with the piano / keyboard... this is where it is at. The more you do this, the better you get, and the more, in turn, you do this. Positive momentum begets more (both qualitatively and quantitatively) positive momentum.
And, unfortunately, it works both ways. Skip a day, skip a week. Bemoan your lack of progress. Skip another week because, wow, this is hard, and you haven't really improved in a few months. Is this even worth it after all?
In each case, piloting a balloon, building a better diet / fitness regimen, and practicing piano, the answer to fixing the problem is the same: do something. Nothing drastic, but change the unwanted pattern. Then be patient as the results come, which they inevitably will. Once you see those, observe them closely, and make subtle changes as necessary.
- Aw2pp, preachin' the Blues.
Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
Friday, July 16, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I'm years ahead of this guy
After all, he picked up piano at age 48, I started when I was 39.
Cincinnati Bengals Line Coach takes up piano
What's interesting about this is that he took up the instrument to get inside the mind of a performer. Money quote:
Never quite thought about it that way, although, with public recital #2 coming up in about 5 weeks, I should. I knew piano would teach me about music and preparation It has re-affirmed a lot of what I already knew, mainly having to do with HOW we learn things. But it never occurred to me to think of approaching piano from the perspective of a performer.
I'm going to have to think about this a little while more, but wanted to share it with you anyway.
- Aw2pp, recalcitrant perfectionist
Cincinnati Bengals Line Coach takes up piano
What's interesting about this is that he took up the instrument to get inside the mind of a performer. Money quote:
Because, over the course of a night, if (a concert pianist) plays 20,000 notes, and he misses a couple, he's had a bad night. And that's kind of the business I'm in - teaching people how to perform, particularly under pressure.
Never quite thought about it that way, although, with public recital #2 coming up in about 5 weeks, I should. I knew piano would teach me about music and preparation It has re-affirmed a lot of what I already knew, mainly having to do with HOW we learn things. But it never occurred to me to think of approaching piano from the perspective of a performer.
I'm going to have to think about this a little while more, but wanted to share it with you anyway.
- Aw2pp, recalcitrant perfectionist
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A rookie's lessons learned - I Due Fiumi
A day or two after I posted my recital clip on Youtube, I received an email asking me for tips on playing it. A week later, I got another email asking about a particular section. Last week, I received a third request for tips on I Due Fiumi (henceforth, IDF). It's quite likely that the only three people in the entire Interwebs who are interested on my take on IDF have now expressed their interest to me. But hey, if there are three of you, maybe there are more (perhaps 5 even?), so I figure it's a good post topic.
From general to specific, here are my thoughts on IDF. I would appreciate it if Anthony B, Monica K, and any other frequent / regular / sporadic visitor to these parts could chime in with their observations. My perspective is relatively unique, in that I am a new piano player, with a fool for a teacher* (most of the time). More advanced / technically accomplished pianists probably would have a different point of view.
* - "He who teaches himself has a fool for a teacher." - German Proverb. All sorts of bloggy goodness here, no?
- IDF, it turns out, is much easier than it sounds. In fact, of Einaudi's pieces that I have learned so far (IDF, Limbo, Ombre, and at the moment, I Giorni), it is by far the easiest. There are some passages that took me some time to play (and significantly more time to play well), but hold that thought. I would, as Monica K. has, recommend IDF as a first Einaudi piece for anybody who is relatively new to piano. mom3gram, I know you tend to downplay yourself, but I am completely certain that you could have this piece up and running in time for next month's ABF Recital.
- I always (AlWAYS, I say) played the main body section better the second time around. I have no explanation for this.
- In the recordings, Einaudi himself starts at about 108 beats per minute, then at measure 17, speeds it to about 120 (or thereabouts). Then returns the slower tempo at the coda. When I listen to my recording, I wish I had done this, because my own recordings sound slow and tentative in comparison to the real thing. Also, Einaudi pushes and pulls on the tempo quite a bit, and pauses at the end of almost every phrase. If the sheet music reflected his performance, there would be fermatas every four measures or so. Adhering (somewhat) to those imaginary markings made my performance sound more like his.
- A slight majority of the piece is played with the Una Corda (soft) pedal. In practice, this meant that my recital recording was too quiet. Folks with better control of the pianissimo side of the dynamic spectrum could do better than I, but I found I had to move everything up a little towards the forte side of things. You'll notice nothing in the sheet music calls for more than mezzoforte... I didn't adhere to that, but would have if I had better control of quiet notes.
- For the sake of simplicity, I played the left hand arpeggios mostly 531313, 531313, etc. I wasn't able to keep this up for the pattern in measure 6, which I played 541414 everywhere it appeared. My teacher did not like this, but it was too ingrained in me to change by the time I played it for her. Other important exceptions were measures 12 and 80. I simply could not play the following measure smoothly until I changed the pattern to 543434 (then then 321212 in the following measure). That helped A LOT! And there was one more exception to this, which deserves its own bullet.
- On the LH, there is a pattern that comes up a lot at the end of almost every phrase. The first instance of it starts in measure 7. Two observations here... first, Einaudi seems to slow down near the end of the second measure when he plays this, so I did too. Second, I played the LH 5312135, then started the next measure with the fourth (ring) finger. My teacher hated this, and my wife thought it looked very unnatural. But it worked for me.
- I neglected the coda section in my early practice, and should not have. Later, trying to get a good recording was frustrating. In about a half dozen takes, I played the whole thing well, only to make a fatal error on the coda. I believe Anthony B experienced something similar.
- To me, the piece revolves around the part where the RH moves up the register... starting in measure 33. Meanwhile, the LH is doing a countermelody that actually requires it to move around a little. This was my first exposure to this LH pattern, which, it turns out is a common one in Einaudi's music. I had to play these measures a lot, slowly, repetitively, over and over and over again, to acquire the pattern. For folks like me, without much piano experience, this is the painful, dues-paying portion of learning a piece like this. It was annoying and tedious, and (Ral is not going to like hearing this) I did not like it. After about maybe 10 hours of going through it in this manner, I slowly began to build up speed, and then one day it all came together magically. (Gremlins, again.) To this day, it remains my favorite passage of music to play on the piano (measures 33 through 52).
- One of my teacher's tips that simplified it for me was to start the RH (on measure 34) with my ring finger (would that be 4?). It's not natural for me, because that High C gets a lot of play in this part, and I'm using the weakest finger to play them. But it makes everything else much simpler.
- And once I had the RH down, I found I could, as Anthony B suggested, let my RH go on autopilot while I made sure the LH hit its assignments correctly. You'll know you are getting close when you can do this. (Of course, folks like Euan and Kawaigirl probably sight-read the music with that mindset.)
- There is an octave-plus chromatic scale part starting in measures 45 and 49. At first, I tried to do this with only a two crossovers (5154321543212), but that was, as we used to say in Texas, ignant. Impossible for me to do smoothly. After awhile, I sort of lost count of how many crossovers it took me, but it was at least three. What I probably do now is 5154321432132, but I'm no longer tied to a particular pattern on those anymore. I think that is because once in awhile, I would miss on the way down, and adjust on the fly, and play it successfully.
- Last thing, and it's subtle. Einaudi pauses briefly on the first 8th note in measures 60 and 64 (another imaginary fermata). When I got it in my mind that this represented the end of one phrase, and the second 8th note the beginning of the next, this made the passage much smoother for me.
Whew. All I got. As I said earlier, I would be happy if anybody had their own tips and pointers to throw in. One last comment: many of the things I learned and described here have made I Giorni easier to learn. I hope I continue to see these kinds of progressions as I move to more complicated pieces. After all, I have less than 11 months to learn Le Onde for the next recital.
- Aw2pp, who goes on and on like Internet words are free or something. Sheesh.
From general to specific, here are my thoughts on IDF. I would appreciate it if Anthony B, Monica K, and any other frequent / regular / sporadic visitor to these parts could chime in with their observations. My perspective is relatively unique, in that I am a new piano player, with a fool for a teacher* (most of the time). More advanced / technically accomplished pianists probably would have a different point of view.
* - "He who teaches himself has a fool for a teacher." - German Proverb. All sorts of bloggy goodness here, no?
- IDF, it turns out, is much easier than it sounds. In fact, of Einaudi's pieces that I have learned so far (IDF, Limbo, Ombre, and at the moment, I Giorni), it is by far the easiest. There are some passages that took me some time to play (and significantly more time to play well), but hold that thought. I would, as Monica K. has, recommend IDF as a first Einaudi piece for anybody who is relatively new to piano. mom3gram, I know you tend to downplay yourself, but I am completely certain that you could have this piece up and running in time for next month's ABF Recital.
- I always (AlWAYS, I say) played the main body section better the second time around. I have no explanation for this.
- In the recordings, Einaudi himself starts at about 108 beats per minute, then at measure 17, speeds it to about 120 (or thereabouts). Then returns the slower tempo at the coda. When I listen to my recording, I wish I had done this, because my own recordings sound slow and tentative in comparison to the real thing. Also, Einaudi pushes and pulls on the tempo quite a bit, and pauses at the end of almost every phrase. If the sheet music reflected his performance, there would be fermatas every four measures or so. Adhering (somewhat) to those imaginary markings made my performance sound more like his.
- A slight majority of the piece is played with the Una Corda (soft) pedal. In practice, this meant that my recital recording was too quiet. Folks with better control of the pianissimo side of the dynamic spectrum could do better than I, but I found I had to move everything up a little towards the forte side of things. You'll notice nothing in the sheet music calls for more than mezzoforte... I didn't adhere to that, but would have if I had better control of quiet notes.
- For the sake of simplicity, I played the left hand arpeggios mostly 531313, 531313, etc. I wasn't able to keep this up for the pattern in measure 6, which I played 541414 everywhere it appeared. My teacher did not like this, but it was too ingrained in me to change by the time I played it for her. Other important exceptions were measures 12 and 80. I simply could not play the following measure smoothly until I changed the pattern to 543434 (then then 321212 in the following measure). That helped A LOT! And there was one more exception to this, which deserves its own bullet.
- On the LH, there is a pattern that comes up a lot at the end of almost every phrase. The first instance of it starts in measure 7. Two observations here... first, Einaudi seems to slow down near the end of the second measure when he plays this, so I did too. Second, I played the LH 5312135, then started the next measure with the fourth (ring) finger. My teacher hated this, and my wife thought it looked very unnatural. But it worked for me.
- I neglected the coda section in my early practice, and should not have. Later, trying to get a good recording was frustrating. In about a half dozen takes, I played the whole thing well, only to make a fatal error on the coda. I believe Anthony B experienced something similar.
- To me, the piece revolves around the part where the RH moves up the register... starting in measure 33. Meanwhile, the LH is doing a countermelody that actually requires it to move around a little. This was my first exposure to this LH pattern, which, it turns out is a common one in Einaudi's music. I had to play these measures a lot, slowly, repetitively, over and over and over again, to acquire the pattern. For folks like me, without much piano experience, this is the painful, dues-paying portion of learning a piece like this. It was annoying and tedious, and (Ral is not going to like hearing this) I did not like it. After about maybe 10 hours of going through it in this manner, I slowly began to build up speed, and then one day it all came together magically. (Gremlins, again.) To this day, it remains my favorite passage of music to play on the piano (measures 33 through 52).
- One of my teacher's tips that simplified it for me was to start the RH (on measure 34) with my ring finger (would that be 4?). It's not natural for me, because that High C gets a lot of play in this part, and I'm using the weakest finger to play them. But it makes everything else much simpler.
- And once I had the RH down, I found I could, as Anthony B suggested, let my RH go on autopilot while I made sure the LH hit its assignments correctly. You'll know you are getting close when you can do this. (Of course, folks like Euan and Kawaigirl probably sight-read the music with that mindset.)
- There is an octave-plus chromatic scale part starting in measures 45 and 49. At first, I tried to do this with only a two crossovers (5154321543212), but that was, as we used to say in Texas, ignant. Impossible for me to do smoothly. After awhile, I sort of lost count of how many crossovers it took me, but it was at least three. What I probably do now is 5154321432132, but I'm no longer tied to a particular pattern on those anymore. I think that is because once in awhile, I would miss on the way down, and adjust on the fly, and play it successfully.
- Last thing, and it's subtle. Einaudi pauses briefly on the first 8th note in measures 60 and 64 (another imaginary fermata). When I got it in my mind that this represented the end of one phrase, and the second 8th note the beginning of the next, this made the passage much smoother for me.
Whew. All I got. As I said earlier, I would be happy if anybody had their own tips and pointers to throw in. One last comment: many of the things I learned and described here have made I Giorni easier to learn. I hope I continue to see these kinds of progressions as I move to more complicated pieces. After all, I have less than 11 months to learn Le Onde for the next recital.
- Aw2pp, who goes on and on like Internet words are free or something. Sheesh.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Gremlins
I've mentioned this before, but it bears a full revisit, because Gremlins are in full force these days. My observation goes something like this. While working on something over the course of several days, I make minimal progress while I am actually sitting at the piano. Sure, during the course of a 30 minute practice stretch, maybe something gets smoother, or I can play it marginally faster. But from the beginning of one piano practice session to the end, I am basically the same piano player. Strangely, real progress occurs once I have turned the piano off, and gone on to new tasks and fun-filled activities. And this is especially true when I have a good, useful practice session immediately before going to bed. The next time I sit down at the piano, I find, miraculously, that I have indeed become a New and Improved Piano Player. Things that I could not have done before... I can do. Things I was able to do before... I can do them better. It's a very interesting phenomenon, and if I had any friends who were cognitive psychologists, I am sure they could explain it to me. Since I don't (not that I know of, anyway), I prefer a cleaner, more succinct explanation.
Gremlins.
Gremlins have a bad rap. In some cases, this reputation is well deserved. Observe as Bugs Bunny tries to fend off a Gremlin who was trying to wreak wanton havoc on a US Army Airfield during WWII. (Mind you, I regard this as one of Bugs' weaker performances, but it's relevant.)
Years later, in puppet form*, Gremlins re-emerged in one of Steven Spielbergs worst movies. (Remember, don't feed them after midnight. I mean, how hard was THAT?)
* - This was before George Lucas and Al Gore invented CGI, obviously. I expect a remake any year now.
The Gremlins I speak of are not the nasty, mischievous kind. No, these are helpful Gremlins. These critters are hard at work while I sleep (and, to a lesser extent, while I do things like yardwork, eat, or, you know, my job) creating and extending synapses, making new connections that help me play the piano in ways I could not before. These days, for instance, I am in the final stages of getting the Mexican Hat Dance up to a recording-worthy level of polish. Concurrently, I am also learning I Giorni. Both pices have required extended sessions of slowly, repeatedly, playing short sections, even individual measures over, and over, and over again. In some instances, this practice has been dull and tedious, and I have turned the piano off out of sheer boredom or frustration over my lack of progression. Then later, or even the next day, I come back, and without having touched the piano, I have suddenly mastered what I could not do before. More than once over the last week, I have thought to myself, "Holy cow, is this me playing? It sounds good."
I'm not alone here, right? Does this happen to you?
- Aw2pp, who keeps his supraesophageal ganglion to himself
Gremlins.
Gremlins have a bad rap. In some cases, this reputation is well deserved. Observe as Bugs Bunny tries to fend off a Gremlin who was trying to wreak wanton havoc on a US Army Airfield during WWII. (Mind you, I regard this as one of Bugs' weaker performances, but it's relevant.)
Years later, in puppet form*, Gremlins re-emerged in one of Steven Spielbergs worst movies. (Remember, don't feed them after midnight. I mean, how hard was THAT?)
* - This was before George Lucas and Al Gore invented CGI, obviously. I expect a remake any year now.
The Gremlins I speak of are not the nasty, mischievous kind. No, these are helpful Gremlins. These critters are hard at work while I sleep (and, to a lesser extent, while I do things like yardwork, eat, or, you know, my job) creating and extending synapses, making new connections that help me play the piano in ways I could not before. These days, for instance, I am in the final stages of getting the Mexican Hat Dance up to a recording-worthy level of polish. Concurrently, I am also learning I Giorni. Both pices have required extended sessions of slowly, repeatedly, playing short sections, even individual measures over, and over, and over again. In some instances, this practice has been dull and tedious, and I have turned the piano off out of sheer boredom or frustration over my lack of progression. Then later, or even the next day, I come back, and without having touched the piano, I have suddenly mastered what I could not do before. More than once over the last week, I have thought to myself, "Holy cow, is this me playing? It sounds good."
I'm not alone here, right? Does this happen to you?
- Aw2pp, who keeps his supraesophageal ganglion to himself
Friday, December 5, 2008
Why I don't do scales
In and amongst working on I Due Fiumi, I am also starting Alfred's Book Two (II). Sort of. Truth is, I broke open II about two weeks ago or so, and in 30 minutes, I was able to play the very first piece. It was very easy, probably about as easy as some of the pieces in the middle of Book One (I). I understand that the difficulty ramps up quickly in II. Those who have gone before me point out that, on average, it takes about twice as long to make it through II as it does I. For me, that would mean Book Three (um, III) would be about a year and a half away. Seems like a long time.
It is clear to me that II has a lot to offer. I also understand that there are very useful things for a new piano student to learn from it. Some of those lessons will make it easy for me to learn to play very interesting music. And yet, I have not even begun the second piece. Why?
Simple. I Due Fiumi is more fun. More interesting. Sounds better. I don't have hours and hours each day to spend on the piano.* When choosing what to do with that limited time, of course I'll choose to work on the more rewarding piece of music.
* - This is not exactly true, of course. I do have hours of unscheduled time I could be spending on the piano. I simply choose to sleep during those hours instead. Priorities.
Mind you, the Alfred's Method Books are not composed of mindless, numbing exercises. Those are out there, of course. Hanon exercises, scales, arpeggios... those are things generations of piano teachers have foisted upon their students, saying basically "These are good for you. I learned the piano this way. You will learn the piano this way." Alfred's tries to teach those same lessons using actual pieces of music. Yes, some of these traditional exercises are mixed in here and there, but the point of the method is to make music. And yet... and yet... I apparently don't find it compelling enough to set aside I Due Fiumi (or whatever I attempt next).
So the question I ask myself (and any of you, if you care to venture an opinion) is this: am I harming my growth as a piano player by not doing scales, arpeggios, and traditional piano exercises? Am I trying to run before I walk? Or is there long-term technical benefit to doing what I am doing? That is, am I still learning whatever it is that I am supposed to learn from traditional exercises?
I've posed this question to fellow beginners and intermediates at pianoworld. Will let you know what insights I get from that.
It is clear to me that II has a lot to offer. I also understand that there are very useful things for a new piano student to learn from it. Some of those lessons will make it easy for me to learn to play very interesting music. And yet, I have not even begun the second piece. Why?
Simple. I Due Fiumi is more fun. More interesting. Sounds better. I don't have hours and hours each day to spend on the piano.* When choosing what to do with that limited time, of course I'll choose to work on the more rewarding piece of music.
* - This is not exactly true, of course. I do have hours of unscheduled time I could be spending on the piano. I simply choose to sleep during those hours instead. Priorities.
Mind you, the Alfred's Method Books are not composed of mindless, numbing exercises. Those are out there, of course. Hanon exercises, scales, arpeggios... those are things generations of piano teachers have foisted upon their students, saying basically "These are good for you. I learned the piano this way. You will learn the piano this way." Alfred's tries to teach those same lessons using actual pieces of music. Yes, some of these traditional exercises are mixed in here and there, but the point of the method is to make music. And yet... and yet... I apparently don't find it compelling enough to set aside I Due Fiumi (or whatever I attempt next).
So the question I ask myself (and any of you, if you care to venture an opinion) is this: am I harming my growth as a piano player by not doing scales, arpeggios, and traditional piano exercises? Am I trying to run before I walk? Or is there long-term technical benefit to doing what I am doing? That is, am I still learning whatever it is that I am supposed to learn from traditional exercises?
I've posed this question to fellow beginners and intermediates at pianoworld. Will let you know what insights I get from that.
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