Baby It's Cold Outside

Ah, the Russians. Vodka, fur hats, and that wickedly cold climate that halted Napoleon; what could be more fascinating? I have to admit, however, that while the works of the great Russian composers comprise the majority of the music on my "reasons to live" list, I have always been a little wary of the Russian piano school. In reading this chapter, however, I discovered interesting information not only about the Russian school, but also about the performance and rehearsal practices of a few of its most famous pianists.

First off, we have Rubinstein, an interesting guy indeed. What fascinated me about him, were the accounts of his many mistakes in performance, more interesting still, though, was the overwhelming opinion that in light of his wonderful interpretations, these mistakes mattered little. Aha! said I, all I have to do is develop wonderful interpretation- and the ability to improvise- and wrong notes and memory slips will not matter (developing said interpretation and ability to improvise is another matter altogether, however)! But then I read further, and discovered that in fact, Rubinstein did have amazing technique, and that he did not allow his students the liberty of mistakes in their own playing. This brings up an interesting dichotomy; correct notes, and mechanics of playing are immensely important, we all agree, but if in a performance setting (heaven forbid), it becomes impossible to hold everything together, which should be saved, the interpretation, or all the correct notes?

We move on to Horowitz, whose practice habits were interesting. He was an advocate of slow practice, something I, for one need to do much more of. It is only when piece is "dissected," so to speak, that one can really be aware of how it works, and of the individual motions needed to perform it. It was also interesting that he spent three hours a week on sight reading. At this point, I'd say it's pretty much settled that that's what I'm going to do, when I have more time. . .


And finally, my current musical hero, Prokofiev. Although there is not as much to say on his technique, it is worth noting the description of his practice of his own third concerto. Although he had played it brilliantly before, he still took the time to break it apart for slow practice, and make sure that everything was in working order, and check for improvements that could be made in his playing. If a composer can do this for his own work, what does this say about my practicing of others' works?


Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Russian music to listen to.