Shortly after starting my studies at the Manhattan School of Music, majoring in piano, hours of practicing with ingrained bad habits led to a long-lasting, painful case of tendonitis in both hands. Unable to practice, I took off for a semester, and then, still not recovered and unable to practice, I went back but switched my major to music theory. And never looked back. An unplanned but life-changing decision for the better.
However, in a desperate search to discover what I was doing wrong at the piano, I continued taking piano lessons – but with different teachers. I began studies with the wonderful composer and pianist Robert Helps at MSM and, outside of school, studies with Joseph Prostakoff. Both were disciples (I suppose that is the best word for it) of Abby Whiteside, an extraordinary pedagogue who had carefully analyzed the mechanics of the body in relationship to the piano keyboard. Little by little, my tendonitis ebbed away and I was able to spend more and more time at the keyboard without pain.
Those studies converged with what I was learning in my music theory classes – leading to me gaining an entirely different understanding about music. In music theory classes, the technique for playing I was learning in my piano lessons led to an interest in the theoretical concepts of Heinrich Schenker. I dove into his “Five Graphic Music Analyses” and also “Structural Hearing” by Felix Salzer. Both made an enormous impression on me, enabling me to realize the overarching structure to be found in the great classical works – and that while the details matter, playing that did not steer in the direction of long-range musical destinations missed the heart of the music.
At my piano lessons, I was learning how to depress keys, not with the small finger muscles, but with the larger levers of upper arms and torso, a technique which eliminated my lingering tendonitis. These larger gestures incorporated groups of notes rather than the incessant up and down of one note after another – leading to a sense of phrasing with destination. Even the basic method of learning was a do over. Instead of starting slowly and gradually increasing tempos, I learned that this only drummed bad habits into my playing, as the physical movements needed to cover the keyboard at speed were different than those used when playing slowly. I learned new music, no matter how fast, by always playing at tempo, what Abby Whiteside called “outlining.” As an example, in 4/4 time, I would play only the first beat of every bar. Then gradually introduce, the third beat, then the notes that fell between, until all the notes were there, always at tempo, and guided by the larger gestures that depressed keys over longer spans of time.
This method of playing made Schenker’s theoretical concepts palpably real and sensible. The first note of a melody was headed towards a goal that might be many measures away, and all of the notes in between were a means to get there. It was that long range motion that gave the music a sense of direction and musical purpose. Without it, playing devolved into a series of disconnected gestures, losing the momentum of the music. This realization not only changed the way I listened to musical performances but also, as I was beginning to compose music of my own, provided a groundwork for how I thought about how to get from note to note in a composition – and create not just a series of pleasing sounds but a compelling (hopefully) musical story.
