Tag: Musicality

Sometimes, it Really Is Black and White

Key signatures remain a stumbling block for certain types of students.

We were reading the middle section of the Mozart “Rondo alla Turca” – the section with the seemingly endless running sixteenths in the right hand.

If I am reading a piece in G Major, when I come to a note in a measure that that is printed on the top line of treble clef it simply doesn’t “look like” an “F” to me.  It looks different, it “looks like” an “F#.”  I’m lucky that way.  For many students however F-s do not magically transform in appearance to F#-s.

I also carry around the inductive logic of the circle of fifths as a fixed and clear model in my mind.  There is no trouble in remembering that if there are three sharps in the key signature they will be F#, C# and G#.  I don’t have to examine the key signature to come to this conclusion.  For many, though, regardless of experience, they have to look at the sometimes dense group of sharps or flat signs at the beginning of each line, an decipher for which line or space each is centered on, then try to remember, each one separately, to go through a check list, as it were, for each note they encounter in the piece to figure out of it is a natural or not.

These students have difficulty every developing more than a rudimentary sense of what a “key” is.  They are apt to forget each time, for instance, that if there are three sharps in the key signature, they are always the same  sharps, and that these F#, C#, G#.* Sometimes they will find it easier to they remember the three as C# F# G#, so at least they are sorted alphabetically.  A typical question from such a type of student is “how do you know if the piece is major or minor?”  “Can you tell from just looking at the notes at the beginning of the piece; or is it something to do with the sound?”   Attempting to explain the answer to this question in terms of there being certain statistical likelihoods for certain notes and chords to show up in the first measures of the piece, further complicates and mystifies.

The inductive logic of the circle of fifths doesn’t establish itself firmly in their minds.  They do not see an imaginary sharp or flat sign to the left of each note along a line of music, whose existence is confirms a sharp or flat that in the key signature at the beginning of the line.  And practicing scales until they become automatic in the fingers seems a daunting task, as difficult and time consuming as learning entire pieces.

For many years I stubbornly retained the simple logic of he circle of fifths as the only unambiguous way of clarifying key signatures to students for whom this posed an issue.  Logic, I felt, will always win out.  It took a while to mature out of this notion.

At today’s lesson I chose a less elegant, a less logical, but simpler expedient.  I told Rachael that my intuitive impression was that as she was reading the notes on the page it didn’t seem immediately clear to her whether the next note to play was a white note or black note.  I took the first measure of the passage, and I asked her to play the passage as slowly as she needed to in order for her to say for each next note that she read, “this is a black note”, or “this is a white note”.  How she determined this was unimportant, it was just the final experience of the hand on the keyboard that mattered.

This shifted the emphasis from remembering the key signature and how it applied within the measure, and raising to a higher level of conscious awareness the identity of that note as simply being a white note or a black note.  There was no more key signature present.  There was just the individual identity of each note as falling into the class black note or white note.  If it was a black note it didn’t matter if it was written as a sharp or as a flat.  Only key color mattered.  The same with regard to white notes,  whether their note names were naturals, or flats or sharps.

This first measure of eight sixteenth notes was just memorized as a sequence of words.  Just as a binary number is a series of zeros and ones in a certain order, so the measure was a series of the words ‘back’ and ‘white’.

At first she seemed skeptical that this could work, since it seemed to beg the question of needing to know and retain in her mind the key signature.  But it turned out otherwise.  Now that there was only one of two things to choose about each note, and after putting in the initial downloading time it took to put the measure into this on/off, zero/one, black/white form, her confidence level in playing the notes correctly rapidly increased.  She felt a certainty and a mastery over what to play.  There were no questions left.  No uncertainties.  Just the color of the notes. She bypassed any worry about applying a ‘template’ of white and black notes, first to the key signature, and relate things from there to the notes of a measure.

*Or furthermore that the first two of those sharps are always the same as the sharps that appear when there is only two sharps in the key signature.

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Lyricism, Connectivity and Shaping of Sounds

At B’s lesson today, he was playing Mozart’s Adagio in B Minor

He plays a series of notes from the piece, and stops because he is frustrated with how it just sounded.  He says: “In order for me to even it out, ‘this’ note needs to be a little louder, and ‘that’ note needs to be a little softer.”  He makes physical adjustments in how he plays each of those two notes.  The result is a new set of inconsistencies in the sound.  I try to explain that any difference in muscular action for which one can consciously in control will over-compensate for the problem.  The only ways that reliably control evenness in sound, whether in a melody, or in a chord, are based on either the ear or finding a lever further up the arm that controls all the fingers alike.

Here are some of the spots that we worked on.

#1.  The first chord in the piece: es3-b3- -gs4-d5.

If the chord is not coming out the way you want it to, do the following:

a) Play the es3, three times in a row, while doing nothing other listening to them.  For, without your realizing, your playing mechanism is going to adjust the resonance of es3 your figurative, “inner” ear is satisfied with the sound.  Just by gradually playing it over and over it comes closer to having the quality of sound you want.  Hold the third one longer than the others.

b) Then pause a couple of seconds. Now play es3 and b3 together, three times in a row (as before).  Again your instinctive ear is going to automatically cause the body to unconsciously change the enunciation of the two notes until both are equally resonant and well balanced.

c) Pause again for a couple of seconds, and play the es3, b3 and gs4 together several times.  Let the same automatic balancing of the sound occur through the ear.  You don’t have to do anything more than listen to the triads.  You don’t have evaluate the balance each time you play it.  It will simply gravitate towards an idea position.  It’s an unconscious process of “practicing” something over and over until it pleases you or sounds the way you want.

d) The last stage is to play all four notes together – three times.  Then,  aslmost as an afterthought, play the four notes together again.  Through the silence that elapsed between the last of the three iterations of the four note chord, and the ‘fourth’ one you just added on, you will have preserved, without the slightest change, the balance of the notes.  It simply sounds the way you just heard it a few moments ago.

What we’ve done through this process is “taken apart” in time something that is meant to be heard “together” in time.  Rather than that changing the nature of what we hear because we have broken it into repeating parts, we actually gain more automatic control of how the notes will sound when ‘together’ in time.  One might say we have created a figurative lever of to gain a mechanical advantage of consciousness over simultaneous in time.

#2.   The first three notes of measure one: b4, fs4 and d5.

We use a similar process to what we used in number 1.  Play the b4  three times.  Just listen to it.  “Get to know it”.  “What does it sound like when it sounds like a B”?  Or, as in Ireland: “who is he when he is at home” (who is he really).

Pause and then play the b4 together with the fs4.  Same principle, three times; getting to know the full tonal implications of the interval of the fourth between the notes.  And something new: that there is an implication in that fourth that there is, latently, or about to be realized, another note that will complete the fourth and turn, as in this case, into a B Minor chord in second inversion.

Now ‘confirm’ your expectations, that have built up further and further  during the last few moments in time, that you have patiently kept in check through the previous eighth note, and with an air of satisfaction / relief / puzzlement, etc.: any emotion will do, by playing the missing note (d5). If, for example, it meets your expectations, say to yourself something like “I knew all along it was going to sound this”.

What we are discussing in the last two paragraphs falls under the heading of “hearing the missing sounds”.  Or, play it in such a way that even the listener can sense, vaguely, or more specifically, what the missing note or notes are.

If all we heard is the fourth between the fs4 and b4, and no other sounds from the universe, including from what we have stored in our musical memory, any of the following note (or notes) will complete the empty fourth:

fs4-b4-d5       or     fs4-b4-ds5    or    ds4-fs4-a4-b4   or   d4-fs4-a4-b4   or d4 f4-af4-b4

etc..

Here is another approach to the same opening three notes. It is sort of the reverse of the process just described.  Don’t begin with just one note, but with a B Minor chord of many notes (for instance: b2-fs3-b3–d4-fs4-b4-d5.  Follow that by the single note with which the piece starts.  That single note will still retain the coloring, or mood, that it possessed by virtue of the presence of the other notes sounding with it.

Or, we can start with the same, full chord, and then gradually strip away notes from that chord, until at the end we leave just one note, for instance the first note of the piece.  Through each stage in this process the notes that are left remaining retain the full power and effect of a B Minor chord.

The end goal is, without physically playing the other notes of the chord, sound the b4 just as it would sound within the chord.

What applies to one note from a chord compared to a full orchestra, let us say, playing that chord in many voices and ranges, can apply to any chord we play in the piece, as compared to that same chord being elaborated over many octaves in a full symphony orchestra.

The process reminds me of the beginning of a poem by Wordsworth.

“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Appareled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;

Turn wheresoe’er I may,

By night or day.

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.”

This is from the poem: “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”.   The rest of the poem has to do with the possibility of retaining that celestial light or illumination that bathes even everyday things.

There is yet one more way of talking about this.  It is also quasi poetical but scientific as well.  When we play the piano, the sound of each individual note is already rich and complex in sound.  Each such sound contains within it a firmly held together chord made up out of what are called the “partials”, or more commonly, the “overtones” of that note.  So if we compare what we hear, when we listen to that note, to what, for example, a tuning fork (which has few overtones, and the ones it does last very briefly), sounds like intoning that sound, each individual piano note is found to be already rich and complex in sound.  Bass tones evoke the higher overtones of heaven. And when our ears are open we hear the full panoply of pitches throughout the range of the piano.

When we play more than one note at a time, the higher notes in our chords often correspond to overtones of the lower notes in the chord, and these higher notes in the chord take upon them a fullness and resonance that they would not have minus the presence of the lower notes sounding with them.

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A Thanksgiving Fantasy; Thank you to all my Followers

I had one lesson today in the early morning.  The ubiquitous “Irving” was over and played the Scriabin Etude in C-sharp minor (Op. 2, No. 1).

My mind was running at a very fast pace dreaming of turkeys with enormous thighs and having visions Japanese sweet potatoes drowning in Vermont maple syrup.  The result was that I gave, let us say, a ‘rambling’ lesson, one in which I let my imagination loose, which caused me to use a lot of mental imagery, flights of fancy and outre analogies.  It definitely wasn’t a very ‘literal’ or scientific lesson.  But it worked.

Here were the main points we covered.

#1:

Irving spent a long time sitting at the piano and figuring just how to play the first chord.   I interrupted the process and said: too much time spent in preparation – just “evoke” the sound out of the piano.  Feel like a magician who casts a spell or waves a magic wand and a beautiful, resonant, soulful, balanced, chord emerges from the piano.  Then I said: and  incidentally, do this over and over again for every sound that wants to come to birth out the womb of the instrument.

#2:

That had an immediate and positive effect on the sound quality, both within and between the chords.  But we weren’t there yet.  It wasn’t the sound I had in my memory and imagination.  At that moment Irving happened to be doodling around with the B key on the middle line of treble clef, playing it -then listening to it.   This inspired my next flight of fancy.  I said: when you play that note, hear it crescendo after it starts.  Every note grows while it sounds.  There is no such thing as ‘decay’ or getting softer.

The great French philosopher Henri Bergson wrote: “What philosophy has lacked most of all is precision. . . (philosophical systems) are too wide for reality.  Examine any one of them . . . and you will see that it could apply equally well to a world in which . . . men . . . born decrepit . . . would end as babes in arms.”

Or, if you remember the TV series “Mork and Mindy” with Robin Williams:  they have a son together, who hatches out of an egg fully grown, looking surprisingly like Jonathan Winters.  Mork explains to Mindy that their son from this point on will grow younger and younger over the years.

I mentioned both of these things just to say that others beside me have had fantasies in which things defy the ‘arrow’ of time, or in my case, that a piano string, once set into motion and left on its own, will vibrate more and more strongly rather than less and less so.

You can also imagine a group of billiard balls, all in motion, which grow closer and closer to each other over the next bunch of seconds, until at the last moment they have come together in a triangular arrangement.   And other such ‘entropy’ defying feats.

#3:

At this point we were getting close to the desired sound.  The sound had been transformed, was lush and lasting.  One more thing was necessary, which had to do with mechanics of playing each chord.  Each time there was a chord to sound (which was pretty much every eighth note in the piece) create the chord out of its lowest note which then, figuratively speaking, opens up to the entire chord – only this has to occur simultaneously.

This is how we approached.  We began by taking one specimen chord and played it, with the pedal down, as a very slow upwards arpeggio.   We did the same again to the same chord only the arpeggio moved a little faster.  Then a little faster…

If I remember my calculus aright, if “delta t” represents the time duration of each note before adding to it the next note of the arpeggio, then, we simply let “delta t” shrink gradually to zero, at which point, though we still feel physically that we are arpeggiating, all the notes of the chord begin at the same instant.

At this point there is no longer a distinction between a simultaneous chord and an arpeggio of notes of a chord.  It is a physiological feeling in the body that the lowest note is played first and that our energy then shifts rightwards.   The listener hears the notes start simultaneously, but notices a richness to the sound.

The player has now been able to make ‘simultaneous in time’ identical with ‘sequential in space’.   The simultaneous chord retains the imprint of the note by note arpeggio.  In the calculus analogy, it like the straight line that connects two separated points on curve, which line, as those two points made to approach each other, changes its slant until, when the points converge, and the line looks like the tangent to the curve at that point.

Part of the retained ‘sequential’ physical experience is that each individual finger will feel totally in control physically of its note and each note sounds with an individual intent.   The bonus is that this is not the result of trying to coordinate the actions of different fingers.  For the feeling of the arpeggio remains, so that the body still feels a rotational change from one note to the next in the chord.  The more notes in the chord the more this rotation seeks its origin and energy from the shoulders and the arms.   In terms of our consciousness, something magical happens, it is as if the single instant at which all the notes start sounding has been expanded into lived duration.

#4:

We turned our attention next specifically to the contrasting section (when it switched from sharps to flats) where utmost anguish is suddenly replaced with great calm, as removed as possible from the original mood.

I made an analogy with a garden hose with a sprayer at its end that is held in the person’s hand, which sprayer contains a lever that makes the spray get stronger and stronger.  There is usually a strong spring in the lever that progressively resists squeezing the handle further, so that if one wants a steady and strong flow. and squeezes it for too long, the hand may grow tired and need to relax, even if just for a moment, before returning the water to the same pressure.  Without those moments of easing off the steadiness of the stream would not remain as continuous.

I wanted to have Irving feel this in relation to the keys going up and down.  The goal in this section is to act like the keys always stay down, but with every eighth note the hand needs to release and retake the keys.  The release of the keys has barely begun when a force from the arms and hands returns the keys to the depressed state.  It’s almost like when having to play the same note over and over, legato, without any use of the pedal.   We learn to strike a balance between there being just one continuous sounding note and the notes separating too far apart.

Looking around for a piano-key-like object, I seized on a pencil (it was the best I could find).   I said: this is a piano key, and, not only is it a piano key it is “Every-key”, in reference to “Everyman” (the 15th century English morality play).  I held one end of the pencil fixed, made the length of the pencil horizontal, and then manipulated the other end of it up and down.  It is like, I said, we are manipulating the same key over and over, imagining the piano keyboard as having just one and not eighty-keys, and that all we were doing was, when playing, was raising that same lever up and down.   And that made all the different pitches and rhythms.

Another way I described it was that part of the magic control that we have over time, when it came time to make the next chord sound, the keys were already down – even, already sounding.

Happy Thanksgiving and thank you to  all, and especially to Sawyer Fuller, our web master.   Save me a piece of dark meat!

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The Challenges of Sight-Singing

Teaching sight reading skills to others is hard for me.  It is the negative flip side of the positive fact of my having absolute pitch.

I start from the opposite end of the spectrum than most people.  I know what the notes are going to sound as soon as my eye sees them on the page, even if I haven’t heard the piece before.  If I am asked to identify an interval by its sound, I already know what the two notes are and from that I can, if I want, calculate the interval.

There is also for me a complete fusion between hearing the sound in advance and my hands going to take the notes on the keyboard that produce that sound.   Additionally, I have a strong and well developed sense of harmony.  Once I know what the chord is, which includes the particular spacing between the various notes of the chord, my hand simply distributes itself automatically on the keyboard to effect that chord.  And, as I read, before I am conscious of the names of the individual notes in the next chord on the score page, I am conscious of the name (the root note, inversion, spacing… of the chord).  It’s as if I see chords and not notes.   It is a bit like the person who, before they are conscious of feeling any pain, has already withdrawn their hand from a hot object or a fire.  As I recall from Junior High biology class, this results from part of a nerve signal making a U-turn in the spinal cord, and the other part of it making continuing to the brain.  When the latter happens, then we know why we just drew our hand away.

I have a strong sense of pulse, which keeps the piece moving forwards even when sight reading.   Part of that has to do with rhythm.  As soon as I foresee a rhythmic pattern among the next group of notes in the score, my body also knows what that rhythm is going to feel like in its execution.  This happens when or a fraction of a second before I read the identity of the pitches of those notes.

Anyway, Irving wants to continue with his diet of 10 minutes of sight reading every day.  We talked for some time about it.  I had to be very quiet and take in what he was saying, and not jumping in with  half baked ideas that were based, without my thinking it through, on the things I do with greater ease when I sight read.

I learned from him one interesting point.  If a person’s sight reading is too “slow”, and if there are too many misplayed notes, the pianist does not get a sense of what the music is like that they are playing.  The latter, though, is what brings enjoyment to the sight reading process itself, and forms the motivation for continuing sight reading, both further into the piece and to want to spend time in general sight reading.   The joy of discovery.

I have to figure this out… (I would love suggestions: please share your ideas)

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Using Your Voice as a Musical Aid

Pianists are blessed by having access to the most beautiful of instruments – no, not the piano – human voice.

Part One:

Things for which our voice can be used for in order to improve our playing.

#1.  The voice enables us to play legato.

In the hands of a master the piano sings and a melody can sound truly legato.  For the rest of us the piano resists our attempts in these directions.  However, our singing voice (no matter how bad) cannot but sing legato.  Our voice does not stop and then start when changing pitches, it can remain smooth throughout the change.   At the piano, the beginning of a new note is always the moment that contains the greatest, sudden contrast between degrees of softness and loudness.

Just as the motions of dancers seem to us to suddenly be less fluid and continuous in space when the accompanying music suddenly stops, so the pianist who is accompanied by their own singing – whether externally audible or audible only in their imagination, nudges the recalcitrant sound of the piano over the boundary that exists between, on one the side, separate and discrete notes, and on the other, a fluid and continuous flow of sound.

#2. The voices refines our ability to play evenly.

The spoken voice can be made to speak a series of syllables that is more regular, as well as even in timbre and in duration, than can be controlled by the fingers at the keyboard.  However, if the fingers are inhabited or possessed by the speaking voice they will ‘utter’ their notes as evenly as the voice.  It’s just a matter of knowing who’s boss: the fingers or the voice.  If the issue is in doubt, shift to the the voice quality of a Marine Drill Sergeant.

#3. The voice can determine and then create the ‘shape’ of a phrase.

Throughout our lives we have gradually learned to communicate in words with a voice that carries a meaning, and guided by that meaning are ‘shaped’, ‘inflected’, and ‘cadenced’.  Without the shape given the voice by meaning, we would not be easily understood by others.  Pianists need only use their own voice as a model for what a series of “sound-syllables” could “sound like” when under the molding and shaping power of a “meaning”.

Though the meaning of a musical phrase cannot truly be described in words, or vice versa, the two are not so utterly unalike that what goes on in one cannot prompt, promote, model and cajole what the other is doing.  By modulating our speaking voice we can shape a phrase at the piano as long as our playing mechanism is under the control of the voice.

#4.  The voice can ensure that rhythm is under the control of the meter.

If a quarter note beat is divided into a group of four sixteenths, it is not enough that the four notes be even.  It is not even enough that the four notes are shaped or inflected (as by the voice) to become a unit of musical meaning in the architectonics of the of the phrase to which the notes belong (although this is important).  There is still the more important demand to be made of the four sixteenths by the meter.  They should clearly manifest the meter of the measure.

Any measure in 4 / 4 time should (with only rare intentional exceptions) “sound like” 4 / 4 time.  This is imperative regardless of the rhythmic breakdown of the measure (what one might term the ‘modulation’ of the rhythm against the meter).  The same for every other meter.  The clarity of the manifestation of the meter is probably the most foremost factor in bringing notes to life.

Though ordinarily I find certain combinations of rhythm and pitches harder to play than others, my fingers have no choice but to follow my cheer leading voice as the embodies the incarnation of the meter: “one two three, one two three…”.  The cheerleader does not recite the Gettysburg Address.  Rather everything is put simply, emphatically, with no room left for doubt or interpretation.  Meter will always shed light on rhythm.  It will insure that each note in the rhythm has a meaning depending on placement in the measure.   And if, momentarily, I notice that my counts are suddenly out of sync with the note I am playing, it is usually because I wasn’t feeling that note in its proper relation to the measure (I had left the decision on how the note should articulate up to the fingers alone).

#5. The voice can eliminate tension in playing.

Whatever is the mechanical effort involved in speaking, it has at least been practiced by us for more hours and years than we have practiced the piano, and therefore requires little conscious effort.  The mechanical motions involved in playing piano are a more widely varied set than the postures of the mouth, tongue and lips, and often can lead us into a state of tension among the muscles.  We should remind ourselves at these moments that the movements in playing piano are natural body motions and can be done without effort,  and that the best form of this reminder is provided by our audible speaking voice, moving in tandem through time with the piano’s notes.*

#6. The voice can overcome the impact of the decay in a long note.

The human voice is the natural embodiment of propelling one sound forwards through time, until it spills over the brim of the vessel containing its duration, and eventuating or blossoming into the next sound.  What better model to directly counteract the state of every long piano sound: by which it gets weaker and weaker moment by moment, only to have, in its old age, its pathetic life cut short by the guillotine of the attack of the next note.   The voice models the result of when there is a more sustained moment to moment sound in the piano.

One may object that the voice has no power to effect the decay of a note.  For more about this objection see “Rekindling A Note (geriatrics for old notes)” https://joebloom.com/3-brief-blogs-technical-situations-that-seem-the-same-but-arent-counting-out-loud-sustaining-a-dying-note/

Part Two:

There are many other purposes for the use of the voice in piano playing, some of which I list in brief in below, and I hope you find others and let me know.

#1 To get to the heart of the music and make it speak emotionally.

#2 To generate excitement and enthusiasm.

#3 To bring out one note (or several notes) in a chord.

#4 To bring out one voice among several or bringing out a hidden  voice.

#5 To apply the brakes on a runaway tempo.

#6 To hit the energy accelerator to push the tempo out of being lifeless.

#7 To augment or create a crescendo or decrescendo.

#8. To express rising action towards a long term goal.

#9. To avoid any single note from coming out haphazardly. To  “take charge” of every note.

#10. Yo raise the identity of the names of the notes to a higher level  of  conscious awareness.

#11. To raise the level of conscious awareness of the order in  which we use the fingers by saying these finger numbers out loud as we play each note.

#12. To give voice to the ‘whoosh’ of the pulse that propels one sound-event in time into the next.

#13. Yo make small intervals sound like, or feel like, wide intervals,  and vice versa.

#14. To allow the body to figuratively take a breath before starting a new phrase by taking an audible breath with our lungs.   A      to make an audible and prolonged exhalation of air to keep the  sound of the notes sustained so they don’t flag.

#15. To emphasize the notes that form the “sonic glue**” or the “physical glue***” in a passage.

#16. To “lasso” a group of notes so they adhere together in a melisma.

#17. To keep the pulse tight and animated.

#18. To give a clear feeling of pitch to the notes at the extreme  ends of the keyboard.

#19. To mix together “pulse” and “flow”.

#20. To bring out a detail in a phrase.

#21.  To play in a speed that is faster than the fingers can do alone.

#22. Yo push the phrase when the fingers are unwilling to do so.

Summary:

In all of these cases the purpose is to surround the sound with a vocal ‘glow’ that causes that part of the sound that comes from the piano alone, to incandence.

*For playing a rapid series of notes, especially a prolonged series, a nonchalant and understated voice, one sounding almost apathetic and seemingly devoid of caring, is a perfect model for an absence of overexertion physically.

** Sonic “Glue”.  Creating a flowing line is more than a matter of connecting each note to the next.  It is also a matter of looking within a measure for repeating pitches, notes that repeat in the same or different octaves but are in a different voices, the other hand, or a different finger.   And then insuring that they all sound the “same”, and create a homogeneous sound despite their individual differences.

Sometimes these notes create a separate rhythm than the prevailing melody or the rhythm of the accompaniment.   Focusing some of your attention on this rhythm is another way of gluing the sound of the measure together.  It can strike the ear as a ‘mysterious’ melody that seems to come out of nowhere.

*** Two complimentary examples of physical “glue”.

Ken Burns pioneered the technique of seeing an historical event refracted through the eyes of various individuals.  A Civil War battle would be seen through the eyes of a General, but also through the eyes of a Private who had no special claim to fame in the battle other than they were one of many who were there.

We usually do not pay much attention to a finger that is not at that very moment pressing a key down to make a sound.  However, for certain very complicated passages, there is an advantage to tracing the history of one particular finger, one “private” in the army, and noting the notes (‘scenes’) within the passage in which that finger takes action to depress a key.   For example, in a certain measure, on the first beat, the second finger is playing a B.  Nearer to the second beat of the measure the second finger again is used to play a G#.  And so on.   It gives us a thread to follow through the intricacies of the narrative.  Following the history of just one finger gives us feedback, in the form of check-in points, as to whether we are still on the correct path through the passage.

Another example doesn’t look so much at which finger plays which note but which notes may be played more than once in the passage, though by different fingers (from the same or different hands).  By playing just those notes, and leaving out the notes in between, we form a structural filament, as if of a spider’s web, to hold the passage together.

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