Thought you knew your scales? Try this!

I have to admit that I did not practice scales and arpeggios as a kid. I hated them, those meaningless, boring snake-like things with flats and sharps and fingerings that followed complicated rules that remained a mystery to me. (Just on the side, I hated fingerings, too.) Stubborn, I resisted my teachers’ efforts to plead, coax, bribe and threaten me into practicing scales. In the end, they gave up on the scales and I continued lessons. There was some scale practicing at college, but it didn’t have a lasting impact.

Ten years ago, during my “piano sabbatical” in New York City I needed a warm up before I plunged into my 6 + hours practice day. Scales kept coming out of the practice rooms at International House, where I lived, and I assumed that Seymour Bernstein assumed that I practiced scales. So, I started to practice scales (and arpeggios) and it became a habit. How long it took me to play C-major 4 octaves, in parallel motion without either running out of fingers or having “left overs” at the end - don’t ask.

It wasn’t until I worked my way through the 1st book of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier that the concept of the circle of 5ths and the different keys began to fascinate me. First of all, I came out of the project a much more fluent reader of all 24 keys. I discovered that part of the “key” issue was a reading issue, and once I looked at the keyboard, the reading issue dissolved into patterns of black and white keys - not unlike knitting patterns. Who cared what the keys were called? If I connected those patterns with the notes I saw on the page, life became a lot easier.

Over time, the standard scale patterns became boring. Scales in unison rarely appear in  repertoire, and they sound much more interesting if you play in 3rds or 6ths, or how about 4ths, 5ths ....and 2nds. You don’t want to do scales in 2nds too extensively if you are sharing the house with anyone else.   

And how about a different scale in each hand: D-major in one hand, and E-flat in the other. This sounds like a piano that is very much out of tune. Can your ear follow each scale? 

Plan for a 4 octave scale (in 3rds or 6ths) and keep changing from major to minor and vice versa. Go up in major and down in minor. Change with every octave. Why is it so much harder to play scales down than up? If your scale going up is much better than the scale going down, replace it by an arpeggio. Using this shortcut saves time and you get to practice more scales going down. 

Arpeggios also make excellent connections between different scales, D7, diminished, augmented - how many different ways can you find to get around the circle of 5ths? 

The goal is not so much perfection as exploration and stimulating the mind and the ear. What does this sound like? Can I anticipate the sound that is to follow? 

I’m having fun, so much fun that I sometimes have to remind myself that there is, after all, repertoire to practice.

If I ever run out of options, I’m going to knit a scarf in a B-major pattern.... 

  

Knitting Pattern: Scarf in B- major, 2 octaves in 6ths      © Birgit Matzerath 2010

	1	2	3	1	2	3	4	1	2	3	1	2	3	4	5
RH
LH
RH
LH
	2	1	4	3	2	1	3	2	1	4	3	2	1	4	3

©©©©©©

Keep Walking!

Walking is good for you! We all know it and have heard it many times. Yet, doing it out of necessity rather than on purpose and experiencing the benefits just by chance is quite another thing.

Last week, we had a performing class at Seymour Bernstein’s studio. Getting into the city by 7:30 on a Friday night can be a challenge, and the train is more reliable than the bus. So, I left the house at 5 and walked the 2 miles to the train station in South Orange. I could have taken the bus, but what’s the point of waiting at the bus station? You might as well walk. 

The downside of public transport is that it doesn’t always go exactly when you need it. The upside is that this often creates breathing spaces in the pace of a day. Breathe - that’s what you need before and during a performance. 

The train got to Penn Station at 6:30. That gave me an hour for the trip to the Upper West Side. Dive in into the crowd and squeeze myself into the subway, grab a cup of tea somewhere, sit down and calm my mind - or worry myself sick - or did I have enough time and energy to walk about 50 blocks?

I started walking. By the time I reached Columbus Circle most thoughts in my mind had dissolved, leaving room for nothing but the g-sharp minor Prelude from WTC II playing in my mind. In the middle of the 1st part, the melody showed a tendency to merge with the development of the 2nd part, taking the wrong turn, so to say. It didn’t pose a huge threat, since I was planning to play with the score, but it is something to check on during the next practice session. Apparently, there was something going on in the music that I wasn’t quite aware of. 

Half an hour before a performance is not a good time to check on details, though. Let go of the thought, rely on the motions you have trained in your practice, and turn on the music again. Keep walking. Occasionally, the theme of the last movement from Beethoven’s op. 109 blended in, adding an interesting note to Bach’s Prelude.

The number of chairs in Seymour’s studio announced a larger audience than I had expected, something that would have sent my nerves flying on other occasions. When everybody had arrived and it was my turn to play, I found myself completely calm, feeling out the touch of the piano, adjusting as I played, my hands warm for once, finally bringing the music to life that had been playing in my mind all the way as I was walking along Central Park.

It was one of my best performances ever. It wasn’t perfect, the Prelude a little too fast and light, and I garbled up the very last passage in the Beethoven Sonata - but if there was nothing to be improved, what would you live for?   

Walking is, of course, no substitute for practicing, but it could be a powerful tool to bring out the best of a good preparation. 

Give it a chance, and park the car 2 miles from the performance venue next time you play.

The emotional side of it

All the people back in New Hampshire who were so kind to help me learn how to drive and get my license will be really disappointed: I’ve sold my car and ended my driving career for the time being.

In the past 6 months I’ve driven about 20 miles, mostly between my apartment and the railroad station (4 miles round-trip) and rolling the car in and out of the driveway so that  my neighbors could get their cars out. In the end, we simply left my car at the end of the line, and I didn’t drive it for months.

There are too many roads in NJ. I can’t handle more than 3 lanes on the highway, and there are too many cars. People cut corners all the time and change their minds without signaling. Everybody drives incredibly fast, and even in New Hampshire I came to understand I that I’m a slow driver. 

Driving in New Hampshire had its own challenges. When I’m driving, I don’t like to share the road with anyone, be it cars, moose, bear or deer. On the other hand, I don’t like to be in the woods by myself, either, even if I’m on the highway in the car. What if I get lost or the car breaks down in a spot where the cell phone doesn’t work? 

It’s a no-win situation. Sometimes being able to drive is convenient, but I haven’t come to like it. Despite the best intentions, once I had moved to Maplewood I was back to my old and cherished transportation habits before I knew it: walk, bike, public transport, a cab every once in a while or a ride with a friend. 

Wherever those means of transportation can’t take me, I don’t really need to go. If I’m honest I have to admit that I don’t want to drive. 

I understand that I might be depriving myself of opportunities and I am sure that I would become a decent driver within weeks if my existence and well-being, or those of a friend, depended on it. Fortunately, that’s not the case at the moment.

By the way, the people who bought the car were also looking for a piano teacher......