Piano Discipline
I taught myself to read music back in sixth grade when my parents got a piano as a family Christmas present. I couldn't play much beside "Good King Wenseslas" and "Hot Cross Buns" for a few months, but I loved it. I gradually improved and took private lessons for a brief time.
But I always consider myself "self-taught." For one, my teacher was not strict. He gave me pieces to practice, but I largely ignored those to learn other pieces--usually Beethoven and Chopin. Most teachers wouldn't let that happen. I also learned technique from watching other pianists, not his instruction.
A love of music fed my playing, not the hand of discipline. I would play to escape the world and express my emotions constructively. Nothing else brought me to play. I needed inspiration.
Over the past two years, that has gradually changed. I have become more disciplined.
"They play the notes beautifully, but they don't play the music," I would often say--condescendingly at times, I'll admit. Notes and timing had secondary value to the passion of the piece. But one must master the notes to truly express the music.
Music is a strange art. We can record it, but the sound itself dies away, never fully found again. Most writing lasts and most visual art lasts, too. For a musician, technique and discipline holds more value because of this transience. One can rewrite a sentence or fix most visual art. But one can never take back a wrong note.
The musician has a duty to the composer to be accurate. Each note exists for a reason. The musician must respect this, and discipline renders accuracy.
Composer, musician, and instrument join in performance. Composers rely on discipline to assure that their soul and vision reach the audience. Musicians rely on passion and musicality for the same, as well as a romantic relationship with their instruments and the composer's scrawl.
Romantic, yes. Every "good" performance, whether private or public, is a passionate love making with the musician, the instrument, and the music--a blissful dream. But one must have the discipline to make the dream real and coherent for the listeners. Or else it remains locked in the player's mind as a selfish escape from the world and the music as written. It becomes his or her own art, unshared with the composer.
But I always consider myself "self-taught." For one, my teacher was not strict. He gave me pieces to practice, but I largely ignored those to learn other pieces--usually Beethoven and Chopin. Most teachers wouldn't let that happen. I also learned technique from watching other pianists, not his instruction.
A love of music fed my playing, not the hand of discipline. I would play to escape the world and express my emotions constructively. Nothing else brought me to play. I needed inspiration.
Over the past two years, that has gradually changed. I have become more disciplined.
"They play the notes beautifully, but they don't play the music," I would often say--condescendingly at times, I'll admit. Notes and timing had secondary value to the passion of the piece. But one must master the notes to truly express the music.
Music is a strange art. We can record it, but the sound itself dies away, never fully found again. Most writing lasts and most visual art lasts, too. For a musician, technique and discipline holds more value because of this transience. One can rewrite a sentence or fix most visual art. But one can never take back a wrong note.
The musician has a duty to the composer to be accurate. Each note exists for a reason. The musician must respect this, and discipline renders accuracy.
Composer, musician, and instrument join in performance. Composers rely on discipline to assure that their soul and vision reach the audience. Musicians rely on passion and musicality for the same, as well as a romantic relationship with their instruments and the composer's scrawl.
Romantic, yes. Every "good" performance, whether private or public, is a passionate love making with the musician, the instrument, and the music--a blissful dream. But one must have the discipline to make the dream real and coherent for the listeners. Or else it remains locked in the player's mind as a selfish escape from the world and the music as written. It becomes his or her own art, unshared with the composer.