Fingering, Practicing, And Memorizing, Part I

"DON'T PRACTICE UNTIL YOU GET IT RIGHT.

PRACTICE UNTIL YOU CAN'T GET IT WRONG."

                                  -- The martial arts philosophy

It becomes incumbent upon us perpetual organ students at some point along our learning curve with the organ to make up our minds, if we haven't before, to make an informal study away from its keys, and at our own pace, of the basic principles involved with harmony, counterpoint, double counterpoint, canon, fugue, and form.  This is needed in order to learn its language, to fully appreciate all the wonder of what we're seeing on the page and hearing with our ears, and, even more importantly, why the flow of notes takes the bends and turns and assumes the shape that it does.  It's a lifetime study, we do this in bits and pieces gradually over time, it seems the more we know, the more information from this vast ocean of learnedness still awaits us, but feeding this need rewards us with much joy as well as know-how and command of the instrument.  

Let's say that we've worked a bit at the keys, learned our keyboard topography, and have developed a modicum of finger facility and knowledge of scales, chords, and harmony.  We happen to love this piece we don't know and want to learn it.  It's within our technical grasp.  We've seen to it that we've got a copy of the score in front of us.  We've spent some time "silent reading it" and know how it's put together.  We now have time to sit down to the instrument finally, put the score on the rack, and start to play our way through it, slowly, all parts together.  We get a few beats into it and have to stop.  Disgust begins to flash through our mind that "Maybe it's beyond us."  We back up, try again from the beginning, and the same thing happens.  We give a sigh and lay it aside.  But maybe already we can play a piece or two far longer and more difficult than this one in front of us ... So ... what's going wrong? 

Just this:  We haven't failed ourselves -- we're still as capable as we ever were, it's just that we've skipped steps and expected the same result.  No one's brain, fingers, and feet can perform a new series of fine motor skills until they're trained to do so, and ALL training happens by degrees.  No one climbs a ladder by placing one foot on the first rung and the other foot on a higher rung 2/3 of the way up.

THERE'S NO WAY TO PRACTICE EFFECTIVELY

WITHOUT HAVING A SYSTEM

AND STICKING WITH IT EACH AND EVERY TIME.

It's not the best music for a beginner to tackle, but, if all we have in front of us is a trio with 3 independent, animated moving lines, one for the right hand (soprano), one for the left hand (tenor), and one for the pedal (bass), with never more than 3 parts sounding simultaneously, one way of going about training the brain a step at a time is by practicing from the score with 1) right hand separately, then 2) left hand separately, then 3) pedal separately, following this with 4) right hand and pedal, 5) left hand and pedal, 6) both hands together, and finally 7) both hands and pedal, SLOWLY, working out the fingering and pedaling in advance and as we go along, marking the score accordingly, always remembering that heel and toe markings will depend upon what's going on in the hands at the time and the overall balance of the body, and that what works in one place or application may not work so well in another.  When the 4th voice (alto) is added, hand division enters the picture.  The alto part is notated on the top staff under the soprano line and is taken by the right hand most of the time, but at times, for the sake of smoother execution or maintaining a legato, the alto part is best taken by the left hand, briefly.  Some adjustments with fingering are needed for this.  This also means it might be easier to condense the 7 steps down into just 3 by first practicing both hands together, then just the pedal line, and then try putting everything together.  We also aim for accuracy when practicing, of course, but not primarily.  Organ playing is many more things than that.  Accuracy will come -- it's freedom which lead us to that, and freedom is gotten by repetition and keeping good habits going.

While the above premise for practicing in 7 steps sounds good, plenty of uninterrupted practice time is needed to make it work, progress may be slow, and it can also seem like drudgery.  Time is something that most people in general, and students in particular, don't have a ton of.  Many major talents, some of whom hold important professional positions, wish they had time for daily practice, but, the reality is, they do not.  Sometimes they have so much administrative work to do that day that they don't make it to the bench -- or maybe they're too exhausted mentally to make it to the bench.  Practice is a privilege to be enjoyed, one for which the player should be grateful even though it may not come every day.  Practice is not and should never be a burden or a chore.  It is not sweat, toil, or travail ... it is preparing for performance.  And, in the case of an organist/church musician involved in the music ministry, practice is also service to God.

NOTE:  Organ playing requires no physical strain.  This precept holds under ordinary conditions, but if the player has a developmental disability, has an ongoing medical condition like arthritis, or has been injured and/or surgically operated, it may be just the opposite.  For someone who has had multiple major stomach wall surgeries, for example, and their stomach wall has been reconstructed artificially, their lower stomach wall is easily strained with prolonged practicing of pedal passages involving turning of the body, shifting of the knees, or using the heels.  The practice session should and must be ended at the first sign of tension or physical aching of any area of the body.

ONE MORE THING:  Worldly distractions are the mortal enemy of a musician's practice time.  When such a wide measure of our best clock hours and energies through the week must of necessity be devoted to our regular vocations (the bills have to be paid), chores and family responsibilities must be attended to, and, somewhere along the line, time for refreshment and sleep has to be worked into the equation, we need to jealously guard anything which could be left.  Spending any more than the barest minimal time with our iphone, computer, email messaging, social media, surfing the web, cable TV, CDs, DVDs, home theatre, etc. will prey upon with deadly precision whatever sliver of time and energy, if any, might remain for personal practicing or didactic study of music, hymnody, or the Word of God.  The allurements of the high-tech electronic age in which we live can end up entangling us to where the best intentions we had of making it to the bench to learn that piece we love can end up being steam-rollered out of existence.  The challenge lies in disciplining ourselves to carve out a little bit of time every day for reading and practicing, shielding it from distractions, and being devoted enough to make whatever precious moments on the bench we might have count each and every time by adopting a system or plan that yields consistent results.  What's important is not to let several days elapse between practice sessions.  The use of headphones with a home practice instrument, because it permits quiet practicing and allows the player the most freedom to choose whatever hours they can devote to working at the console every day, is highly advisable.

A pair of good headphones is a valuable practice t00l.  

It's not too late to start learning the organ.  You're not too old.  You're not too busy.  You're not needing to be a genius.

You just need to have the right tools and a plan that works.   

If there's one thing to remember about practicing repertoire, it's this:  when we're trying to learn a piece we don't know, we have to have a system for breaking it down into steps and do it slowly at first [half concert tempo or less].  One of the worst mistakes we can make when learning an unfamiliar score is to start practicing it at concert tempo.  This can lead to a very wrong impression, that the piece is too difficult for us when, in many cases, its well within our grasp but we're denying ourselves the benefit of the period of slow practice.  If half concert tempo is still leading to mistakes, then we slow it down and have patience during this period of slow practice.  If the piece being learned is densely contrapuntal, such as a fugue, practicing it systematically is especially critical in order to get anywhere with it [See blog, How To Learn A Fugue].

Highly gifted organists throughout history, notably Marcel Dupre, have concocted their own method of practicing new material.  In his teaching this French master was a great devotee of the "divide and conquer" strategy, but he employed a different kind of ladder to reach the objective [See blog, Practicing and Memorizing, Part IV].  In his Preface to his "79 Chorales" Dupre suggests that the learner subdivide the piece being learned into separate small chunks of 4 measures each.  For each 4-measure fragment of the piece he would learn measure 1, work out the best fingering and hand division for all the parts at the same time as he went along, including the pedal, and repeat it a few times in a slow tempo, perhaps 5 times looking at the score and 5 times without looking.  He would then learn measures 2, 3, and 4 one at a time the same way, always starting on the downbeat of the first measure and finishing on the downbeat of the next measure.  After learning these 4 measures separately he would then practice 2 measures at a time, combining measures 1-2, 2-3, and 3-4, repeating them 5-10 times.  He would then practice these separate measures in groups of three:  1-2-3, and 2-3-4, maybe 5-10 times  Finally he would put all four together in a row: 1-2-3-4.  After taking a break, or the next day maybe, Dupre would proceed to the next fragment of 4 measures and learn them in the same manner.

After working through the entire piece in these small chunks of 4 measures each he would then go back and combine the first 2 chunks together and practice 8 measures at a time, later taking 16 measures at a time, and so forth.  He also pointed out that not all musical passages are equally difficult, that some are easier than the others, and there are places where not all the moving parts are present.  He would say that this is especially true at the beginning of fugues where the student will need to repeat the opening measures of the exposition much less than others having a more full polyphonic texture [See blog, Calculating Stop Combinations, Part I].  By proceeding in this fashion Dupre found that these 4 measure chunks seem to stick together with great ease, the whole learning process becomes faster and easier, and, perhaps most importantly, as difficulties are encountered they get pulverized.  In a matter of a few short weeks he found that he had learned and memorized an entire large work in a very solid and systematic way.  By dividing the entire task into smaller bite-sized tasks we can make use of this same approach to guide our own progress in learning repertoire, but it doesn't necessarily have to be in 4 measure chunks.  We might focus instead on maybe a short section at a time, a page a day, a half page a day, or maybe just one line at a time, working out the best fingering, hand division, and pedaling, then practicing it over and over until either we sense fatigue setting in or we can play it without mistakes close to concert tempo, whichever comes first, before moving on.

This practicing method of Dupre's

has much, VERY MUCH to recommend it.

Any new music we practice at the organ today will, at the end of our practice session, go to a place in our brain where it's temporarily stored.  This process happens with anything we try to memorize.  Over the next 6-8 hours our brain works to empty that learning from temporary storage and transfer it to a different place in the brain where it's permanently stored.  When we perform anything from memory we're simply accessing what our brain has placed in permanent storage.  There's some evidence that it's important not to do anything that could interfere with this transfer process going on in the brain during this critical 6-8 hour period, such as by engaging in other hand/eye learning activities (playing video games, for example) during that time, which could cause what's already in temporary storage to be pushed aside before it's sent to permanent storage.  This may explain why many organ students achieve good memory results by doing little or no hand/eye learning after their organ practice, or perhaps by scheduling some of their organ practice in the evening before bedtime.  Sleeping 6-8 hours helps consolidate this memory transfer process going on in the brain.  The next day, students who do it this way often find that they can easily recall what they practiced the night before.  It's there [See blog, Practicing And Memorizing, Part II].

So, using this knowledge, let's say we've spent time on an interesting piece, learned it thoroughly, and then moved on to new material.  We haven't played that same piece in many months and now we're thinking about using it again.  We sit down without the score in front of us, confident we still have it in tight memory, and start playing it again only to find some strange spots where our memory seems to be blank.  We should relax here and NEVER EVER, REPEAT NEVER, UPSET OURSELVES ABOUT THIS.  That isn't where it is.  We haven't lost anything.  Our efforts to learn a new work, any work, and learn it thoroughly, are never for nothing.  The entire work, every bit of it, every single note and chord along with all the muscle memory, is still permanently stored in our brain.  Nothing's changed there.  The winds of time have simply obscured bits of it to where we need to just spend a few minutes of review, sweeping away the sand to gain access to every part of it that we've already learned.

This is a good time to review our fingering.

Fingering/hand division is another valuable practice tool.

The counting system in general use with Piano Methods today is the Continental form where the digits are numbered beginning with the thumb 1, index finger 2, middle finger 3, ring finger 4, and pinky (little) finger 5 [photo].  In old reed organ textbooks from America in the 19th and 20th centuries the sign "+" is usually used for the thumb and 1, 2, 3, 4 for the other fingers.  In Germany/Europe counting from 1 through 5 has long been standard.  In the UK right up through the 1950's Piano Methods were published in both "English" [+2345] and "Continental" [12345] fingerings.

It would be impractical to mark each and every note in the score for fingering, hand division, and pedaling, but, if we haven't done it before, it's a good idea to take the time to work out and mark the tricky places.  It's perfectly all right and will be considerable time saved.  It also doesn't matter what the score looks like afterwards.  A well marked up score full of these helpful indications is an invaluable tool.  

If the edition we're working from already has suggested fingerings, we tailor it if needed so that it works best for US.  Whether it's an editor's suggestions, a teacher's fingering, or our own that's penciled in, it's important to USE that same fingering each and every time to stay out of trouble.  Keep physical limitations, if any, in mind such as small hands, limited stretch, past hand or wrist injuries and/or surgeries, other medical issues such as arthritis, etc., but we need to remember "the best" fingering means more than making it easier to reach the very next note.  It's about setting up the notes which follow it.  With fingering it's just as important, if not more important, to look not just to the very next note but to the next few notes lying beyond it.  A large part of lesson time can be taken up by the teacher merely with marking the score with these indications, it's THAT important.

Once a pattern of good fingering is settled upon and any rough spots are eliminated, the very same should be practiced each and every time.  When the motor memory is programmed like this the playing becomes more deft.  If it seems we've forgotten how to play certain passages in a work we learned before we just set the score in front of us, spend a few minutes to go over the parts that seem to have disappeared, check out the fingering and pedaling, and give it a little slow practice.  What happens next is something we'll think is sorcery -- the entire piece will reappear again, as if by magic.  Whole passages we think are gone forever will materialize right in front of us.  This author is living proof that this will work.  During one period in his life he was hospitalized with a life-threatening illness for months at a time, and his recuperation from surgery would not allow him to practice the organ for even longer.  After being away from it for nearly a whole year he was able to get it all back by following these steps.

NOTE:  The term "early fingering" refers to a specialized system which prescribes the strict use of non-legato touch [See Touch, Parts I-V] in performance of ALL early (pre-1800) organ music.  Such a schema eliminates for all practical purposes the use of legato and clean legato touch, thumb glissando, and thumbs on black keys in deference to broken touch, viz., non-legato.  The routine insertion of definite breaks like this between all moving notes, something which has come to be known as "ordinary touch," reflects a return to historic performance practice with regard to articulation and style.  Whole organ departments of colleges and universities these days are teaching the use of this type of fingering as part of a complete performance approach to early music, and many professors are insisting upon it.  The chief characteristics of this engagement are:  they never change manuals, they never change stops, and every note, every voice, is broken.  One prize-winning professional organist (a grandson of Marcel Dupre tutorially, holder of a master's degree in organ performance from Cincinnati College/Conservatory of Music, and a legend in the Milwaukee area) with whom this writer studied commented at a lesson that, "Bach sounds dull that way, and, the playing sounds choppy at times, so, I could never buy into that."  He added, "No one will ever be able to convince me that's beautiful or interesting.  Some of the playing is really fine, but we might as well have organs with only one manual; we might as well have not have any stops, they would all be on all the time, or we could only change stops between pieces.  But this is some kind of a fad, and, the next fad may be worse, but, I've been very annoyed by it."  In his view all aspects of performance including fingering should serve the music, not the other way around.  He therefore ignored "early fingering" and instead promoted conventional (piano) fingering combined with imperceivably broken (clean legato) touch for the moving notes.  He stated that, "In the Bach fugue the more we connect the left hand line the less the right hand line is evident, the more it's compromised.  When we play it exactly as written sometimes things aren't kept clear that really need to be kept clear.  The moving lines aren't really audible; they are just vaguely moving.  We need to break the left hand line in places so the right hand can be heard more clearly [See blog, How To Play A Fugue].  In Reger we have to change hundreds of things in the way he wrote it, but we do it because we can't hear clearly what we're playing, and it's wonderful writing.  With Bach we're not really changing anything, just not holding things quite as long, and this works in all kinds of music, not just Bach."  This is how HE taught it.  And, lo and behold, one day, to his great surprise, a local colleague of his also of substantial reputation who happened to be a champion of non-legato articulation and style with early music, after listening to him perform, told him he liked the way he played Bach [!!].  So.  There you are.   

Practicing extremes is another way to maximize our ability to perform.  The premise is, he or she who can do the most can do the least.  That premise is good.  It's the reason why an "on deck" batter in a baseball game swings two bats or a weighted bat before stepping into the batter's box ... this is why a voice student or other instrumentalist works on their extreme high and low ranges to extend them as much as possible ... this is why the manual parts of organ pieces are often practiced on a piano or weighted keyboard to help develop finger strength and muscle technique ... this is why organists practice with both feet at the high and low ends of the pedalboard ... this is why organists practice scales in 2 octaves on the pedals and 3 octaves on the manuals ... this is why organists spend time on the highest manual of an organ keydesk or console to identify any potential problems with bench position or balance.  By practicing extremes like this we're better prepared for all lesser performing requirements the come our way all the time.

(con't in Part II)