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English version, thanks to Alan Stott and Sadhbh Szczesna for the translation

Man only plays when he is in the fullest sense of the word a human being, and he is only fully a human being when he plays.

Friedrich Schiller, On the Aesthetic Education of Man, 15th Letter

The word “playing” is beautiful, for playing an instrument means becoming one with it. Whoever does not play with the instrument does not play it.

Robert Schumann

And if you’re not willing, I shall use force…

At first glance, the title shows an uneasy association of violence and music. Is it possible to play the piano using force? It is possible, and since everything has an effect on the person carrying it out, such a technique also influences the player. That’s why many careers in music end up with chronic inflammation of the ligaments and massive back problems, and singers ending up with the collapse of their tortured vocal cords.

From the repertoire of the fighter pianist
Striking the keys as though with hammers, pushing and pressing, stabbing with “lightning fingers”, drilling into the piano, hitting into it, attacking it, allowing the dead arm to fall on it like a stone. Pulling the hand away as though from a hot stove. Putting coins on the back of the hand! Clamping books under the armpits! Fixing and controlling, writhing and twitching, shoulders up, back as stiff as a rod. And off into battle!

What results from all this? The sound of the piano reflects the way we treat it; the echo returning from the woods gives back what we call out. Consequently, what comes from hands of the fighter pianist never sounds well. Piano manufacturers such as Bösendorfer and Fazioli nevertheless attempt to make the piano sound beautiful. But I prefer to hear the individual sound of the pianist on the more neutral Steinway.

Why do players use force? Using force on the instrument can be seen as a fruitless attempt to deal with what is separated, as a paradoxical attempt to unite the separated music and the separated instrument. The person who uses force still loves music; he dedicates his life to music and sacrifices endless hours to it. Frequently, people who use force are nonetheless engaged with their very soul, making music with feeling and with subtlety. Yet it is always separate, and this has an element of tragedy. It is surprising that they haven´t given up a long time ago. I even heard of a violinist who opened a snack bar. But it can be different.

While we are singing, it sings in us – of the great longing

From the repertoire of those with empathy

You can caress the keys (Chopin: “Caresser, non frapper“ – “caresss, don’t bash”), love the

piano, coax the keys towards you. Dive and sink into the key-bed. Embrace the piano, take it up as part of your body, work together with it as with a partner, knead and massage it strongly.

Offer your hand to it. Entice the notes, liberate them from the piano, let them arise. Play “upwards” instead of downwards. Swing together with the piano, with its rhythm – just as when you push someone on a swing you must work with the swing’s own rhythm, not against it. Do not make the tone, but to let it arise. Let the sound rise up as we form it.

To make music audible in this sense requires devotion. Since music lives essentially in relationships and movement, it is itself not acoustic, that is, audible with the ears. Music forms the musical sound from a higher level – rather than the contrary, where “the sound makes the music“. Ideally music plays in us while we are playing. Unless we are one with it, we cannot make it audible.

In thinking over the prerequisites for this becoming-one with the music, we soon arrive at basic questions concerning this “making it your own”. This involves not only moving fingers, or realising a score; we must bring our whole being into music-making. No aspect of ourself remains outside.

In a universal sense, there is a great human longing to become united with that from which we are separated, and this is also valid for music and our instrument. Every musician searches, or has at one time searched, in his or her own way, to become one with the music, the instrument and the audience, wanting “it” to play, to flow effortlessly without disturbances from within and without. Everyone who plays an instrument or sings with enthusiasm has experienced moments in which music-making suddenly succeeds easily and completely. Unfortunately, these moments always appear short-lived and apparently unpredictable. An engaging branch of research is nowadays concerned with the conditions under which this experience of “flow” arises and how one can achieve it more frequently.¹

With adults, the becoming one with what has been separated comes about after a painful period of separation. Separation however has a meaningful purpose, for it makes consciousness and freedom possible. Unless we are separated from the world, nobody could discover themselves as a free, autonomous person. Let us not only accept the division of player, instrument and music as a necessity, but also as a opportunity! That we can and should freely find our own way to unity, is indeed a blessing. We could not achieve any insights on our own, understand anything, unless we experienced both possibilities – being divided, as the given condition, and being united, as the goal of a pathway. Those who use force also seek to become one, but the misconceived application of force and constraint only succeeds in strengthening the division.

If the approach to the piano is blocked, the pianist is constrained into employing still more force and coercion, or into fearful resignation. In the pent-up space between player and instrument only the bog-flowers of musical sentimentality can flourish.

Of technique and dishes

That which leads music out of the inaudible into the audible is called technique. The movements of living technique are such that the inner movements of music can be found in it, can so to speak be embodied in it. The movements of the player and of the music become one.

The inner relationships and tensions of music (e.g. relationships of intervals) are felt in the body in a living technique. The relationships, tensions and resolutions of the music correspond to those of the player. Consequently technique is not the same as mechanics, or the same as quickness and dexterity, although they are both helpful and belong to technique. Téchne (ancient Gk.) means “skill, skilfulness”. The – at times – rather imperfect Cortot had an incomparably better technique than the more perfect Pollini. The musical sounds he produced conveyed much that was inaudible. The orchestral entries under the great conductor Furtwängler were imperfect but alive and exciting; those under Karajan were perfect, but frequently empty and dead. Poor Alexis Weissenberg has a completely machine-like technique and Karajan appreciated this and invited him to play with him after seeing his horrible video. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgJ0XWyYY4Y&feature=related )

There can be no meaningful technique separated from music. For the person who practises dead mechanics and then uses this in music-making, creates something like a foreign body that is placed between him and the music. It remains separate from the instrument; the music “does not come through“, it cannot embody itself.

Many teachers promise their pupils: practice first scales and arpeggios, become a bit like a machine, then the music will come later. But it doesn’t come, or only insofar as the pupil becomes a vehicle for it. That is then simply called “talent”, and since talent cannot be taught, the kernel of music-making remains conveniently omitted. These teachers emphasise that technique is there to serve the music. But the music does not arise from it. And so technique exists purely on its own account, for itself, and for the audience, who at the most can admire quick fingers.

The audience actually leaves the hall empty. Imagine you go to a restaurant. You pay before hand (!), then the dish you have ordered arrives, precious and beautiful, but empty. An absurd picture? Not at all! For that’s what many concerts are like. The people pay for their tickets, but are not nourished in soul and spirit. Not even their bodies are nourished – and here I think of my one-time violinist in his snack bar. He may now be doing more for humanity!?

Sooner or later those who are deceived in this fashion justifiably boycott these events. But many people still feel that music could nourish them. Fortunately, the capacity to be moved by music and its power does not depend on whether it is well played or not. Even badly played music can of itself still nourish. I realise this especially with Bach, who appears to me most immune with regard to instrument and playing.

Practically, At the piano

If the keys are felt as an extension of your fingers (Peter Feuchtwanger), then the cleft between player and instrument can be overcome at the very point at which they touch. The entire instrument can be experienced as a continuation of the body. The great early masters did not play on the piano, but in the piano. They did not set to work artificially as if from outside, but sang with it as with their own voice.

Our most important tool when practising is to pay attention with feeling. We can direct this to quite different areas.

We can

• feel the instrument: the keys, the path to the key-bed, the resistance, the release, the resting on the key-bed.

• feel the movement of the hammer, like giving a swing a push, which only succeeds in its own rhythm, that is, in agreement with it.

• hear the sound, hear and feel the aural space.

• experience the movements – everything arises out of movement, even the musical sounds, the notes. You can learn to perceive movements or processes before the musical sound, in and after the musical sound, and between the musical sounds.

• perceive the movements of your fingers, hands, arms, shoulders, back, breathing, etc. Behind and before all movements is a calm, a silence. Before the sounding of a note there lives a fulfilled silence. (Where is the music? From where does it come to us?)

• begin the movements economically – play with the right tension, at the right place, at the right moment.

• How do we begin? Rather than following the motto “On your marks, get set, go!“, com- mence out of a movement which is already there long before the first note, and which continues afterwards.

Peter Feuchtwanger describes in a wonderful way how the beginning of a piece by Mozart came about under the hands of Clara Haskil:

I sat at the piano and said to her, “Clara, I find the beginning of Mozart’s G-major Concerto, KV 453, difficult.“ She pushed me impatiently off the piano stool, saying, “But it doesn’t ‘begin’!“, and while she was sitting down, it somehow came about. Her arm simply glided on to the keys. It never began and it never stopped; it was simply a movement in the universe. As though you stepped on to a conveyor belt that was already moving. Clara Haskil’s beginning came from the movement. There was no separate beginning (Feuchtwanger. 27).²

We can apply this to any note. It comes out of a movement in the universe, it does not begin at a specific point. Only the note as a physical event begins at a certain point; the non-physical music already exists before the birth of the sound and also after it dies away.

Declaration of love for water

The simplest wave shows us an ideal movement. From every point of view it is complete, flowing coherently within itself, relaxed and yet obeying certain laws, adapting and open for everything that comes, creating balance between tension and relaxation, between sphere and plane, between circle and line; sometimes mighty and strong enough to move rocks, sometimes lively, agile and dancing.

Even drops can become an inspiring picture, an ideal. Kept in its form through tension, a drop disintegrates at some time or other, at that moment when a sudden movement occurs, an interruption of the flowing continuum. The way that happens can become an example for the movements of playing. You can try to release a musical sound out of your hand like a falling drop.

Music is frequently compared to a river, for example by Furtwängler, who compared a symphony by Beethoven to a river and its various qualities. The course of human life can also be compared to the image of a flowing river.

Heraclitus claimed “Panta rhei – Everything flows“. This saying can become an effective meditation for someone who is able from within to make piano technique more alive.

In a similar fashion as for water, and inspired by Francis of Assisi, it is possible to devise declarations of love for plants, for the supple movements of cats, for the the eagle´s view from above, for the thorough digestion of the cow. In all these examples an idea becomes an ideal, and this can awaken strengths, when a musician practises.³ Of course, learning more about piano-playing from a cat than from a solid book seems to be outlandish. But try it; it really helps.

“Quite honestly, I don’t know how I do it“

Artur Rubinstein is supposed to have said this. Even today we do not know how a blade of grass grows; the secret of life is far from having been revealed.⁴ It can’t be revealed with the mechanistic thinking that is so common today. Death understands only death; what is alive cannot be conceived by what is dead, but only by what is alive. Insofar as Rubinstein’s music-making was alive, it could not be understood from the materialistic standpoint. What “living” means in music, should be made the subject of a special essay. How what is alive can be conceived at all, remains to be explained by a science that is only in its infancy, a science that no longer denies the influence of the spirit, but attempts to fathom and accept it.⁵

Here a few suggestions have to suffice. Try to transfer to music the following qualities of what is dead and what is alive.

dead                                                               living

Individual, isolated parts                                 Connection of parts, form, the whole

Persistence or decay                                         Change, rebuilding, building-up

Weight                                                             Lightness

Effect of physically working from point by point    Effect of periphery (cosmic forces). Circle

Life is not integrated in death                             Death is integrated into life

What has been                                                    What is “becoming”

Time is an external factor                                   Time is an inner component of life

The great masters are wonderful examples, but not necessarily the greatest teachers. How often are we told, “Do it like THIS!“, perhaps with the encouraging remark, “It’s quite easy.” It looks quite easy, but the way to do it remains inexplicable.

Some form of training in movement and posture (Alexander technique, Feldenkrais, etc.) is an integral part of a professional musical education, and this seems good in principle. If everything in the world comes into being out of movement, and is further changed through processes, then we cannot exclude this aspect from music-making without some loss. Eurythmy, the training in movement that stands nearest to music, has unfortunately not yet established itself.

Moreover for some decades the far-Eastern Zen has played a great role for searching musicians and music teachers. Eugen Herrigel’s very impressive book Zen in the Art of Archery is repeatedly warmly recommended for students. Compared with the mechanical and one-sided Western emphasis on the mastery of technique, impulses out of the East can be experienced as liberating and fruitful. With all due respect for the great spiritual traditions, I would question whether the path to the East is the best one for us Europeans. No great master of the piano plays so that “it” takes place without his co-operation. It is and always was a breathing weaving together of your own creativity and receptivity.

That the masters did not know how they “did” it, shows us that the way to a fully adequate teaching and learning is still a long one.

From the dictionary of division

Touch and Fr. touché – much better than Germ. Anschlag, i.e. “hit”.

Expression – (who´s pressing out what here? Toothpaste?). In exams, I find even worse the

favourite expression Ausdruckswille – “intention to express” (she or he would like to, but cannot...).

Interpretation – thinks about music, but not in music...

Sensitive – feels, but cannot do it...

Mechanical dexterity, playing apparatus, singing apparatus (the human machine – not an actual musical ideal).

Competitive tempi – who can do it the quickest and loudest? 1000 notes in so-many seconds? Who manages to jump over the hurdle without touching it? Who plays Liszt’s Don Juan Fantasy most accurately? Especially those fearful jumps? Truth to tell, I have nothing against being able to play the Fantasy accurately....

From the dictionary of devotion

crescendo – growing, not forcing (African proverb: “The grass does not grow quicker if you pull on it”, that is, allow growth, also allow yourself to grow; then forte will be “strong”, not merely “loud”). Heinrich Jakoby: “Let the bass notes grow towards you!“ Do notes grow? Or what grows between, before and after the notes? That is something worth researching. What does “lively“ mean in music?

Vivo, vivace – with life, lively. The translation “quick” is too banal.

Aria, Air – not only songs or lyrical pieces, but literally also the air, the atmosphere. But what sort of air?! What is contained in the air?

Chord – not only sounding together, but also Fr. d'accord, i.e. “agreed, in harmony, monophonic“.

Animato, con anima – with soul, with life.

Con amore................!

Videos and sound recordings

Alexis Weissenberg plays Stravinsky’s “Petrushka”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgJ0XWyYY4Y&feature=related

http://www.stefanabels.de/petr1.mp3 Every computer plays Stravinsky similar to Weissenberg, but even quicker and more exactly. Nobody can keep up with that.

On the other hand, Artur Rubinstein with Franz Liszt’s “Liebestraum”. There is no objection to romantic pieces being played differently to the more modern Stravinsky. This is no reason to change the human being into a machine!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkxcDMUpBN0

Compare Lang Lang. He undeniably expresses much, or should one say presses a lot out of it? What is real and what is only show? And where is his stomach when playing?! It seems that his abdomen has shrunk, which explains why the rest has to make such efforts. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubVVSWHkxs8&feature=related

Stravinsky can also be played differently.
Vladimir Horowitz: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNMx9HNW4C0
Emil Gilels: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENKOtr0pNsM&feature=related

You probably know the “Flight of the Bumble-Bee” by Rimsky-Korsakov. At some time the furry bumble bee seems to have developed into an iron-clad killer-insect, as shown Cziffra’s arrangement of the beautiful original.
Incredibly gifted Yuja Wang impressively shreds a Steinway.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8alxBofd_eQ

Do you know Moritz Rosenthal? Unfortunately this recording is only aural, with no images.

Rosenthal, pupil of Franz Liszt, plays Chopin´s Nouvelle Etude in Ab major. This is the most beautiful recording I know.
Rosenthal creates time, he is not the victim of the ticking clock; he is a master of timing. With him you can also see very well how being proactive and letting-it-happen breathe together. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZItBrjyy0PY&feature=related

Edwin Fischer and Wilhelm Furtwängler perform Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto in Bb major, second movement.
Listen to how the sacred stillness continues to flow, listen to the flowing current behind the grand stillness. Unbelievably, this recording originates from the Second World War, 1942. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ek45BNZsy90

Wilhelm Furtwängler conducts Beethoven’s “Egmont” Overture. You can hear the famous

“imprecise” entries here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONDQHSy7aEs


Compare 5 versions of Chopin’s Nocturne, op. 27, no. 2:

Maurizio Pollini http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cxkLZoEFEk

Moritz Rosenthal http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roN3aPBGoVs

Stefan Abels, 2009

Translation Alan Stott and Sadhbh Szczesna, 2011