Difficulty in Piano Music
It is a blemish if a pianoforte piece, in the course of its length, contains bits here and there which, in point of difficulty, are out of proportion with the rest. It would be better that every piece were of approximately uniform difficulty throughout, so that it could be classified as easy or moderately so, difficult or greatly so. I wonder that pianist-composers have not more generally recognized that a Piece which conforms to some particular grade of virtuosity, commends itself thereby to a much wider circle of players than one that does not. A piece which commences in smooth water, but has hidden rocks and quicksands ahead, is doubly handicapped. The player who undertakes it because it looks easy, will, when he encounters the difficult bits, either skip, or fearfully bungle them; while the advanced player who revels in the difficult parts, will find the rest flat, and stale, and indifferent, and will give them only his second-best attention.
These remarks are not intended to supply recipes for overcoming the difficulties which fugues present. But I venture to advise all who make fugues their study to provide themselves with a modern edition. In these, unlike the older ones, it is clearly set forth what each hand has to do; everything, without exception, which the right hand has to play is printed on the upper stave, and vice versa for the left--to the saving of much valuable time, the saving of eye-sight, and the saving of temper.
A second piece of advice is: do not commence practicing a fugue until you have analyzed the whole composition. Not only analyzed it, but marked your analysis in the copy: subject, counter-subject, answer, episode, inversion, augmentation, diminution, codetta, stretto, etc. This will prove of the greatest assistance, not only in the early days of your practice, but at all times. Unless the construction of the fugue is familiar, the player cannot possibly give a satisfactory rendering of it.
To know the construction of the scales, before attempting to work at them, is also of paramount importance if scale-playing is to be of any substantial use. The scale of C major should be considered the normal one, its formation should be analyzed, the where, and the when, and the why of its occurring semitones closely noted, and indelibly impressed on the memory. With C major for his model, the student will be able to construct the remaining eleven major scales for himself, and will not require the aid of any printed copy. He will discover, in making each correspond to the normal one, why it needs "sharps" here, or "flats" there--the difficulty of memorizing the requisite number will not arise--and a musical interest will have been added to what otherwise would be but a dry, mechanical exercise. The minor scales should, of course, be studied on the same analytical principle.
But to return from this digression. There are some passages which will ahvays be found difficult; frequent repetition will diminish but never quite remove this. They lie awkwardly for the hand; and the hand, however pliable, is but human. They have been evolved out if the brain, but not with the concurrence of the finger, by a composer who was not an expert pianist. He may have been a fine musician, but he lacked the special knowledge which would have made these passages pianistic. Or, possibly, possessing it, he did not condescend to employ it for the benefit of the performer.
On the other hand, the majority of difficulties yield to practice; when once the correct fingering has been found, repetition will gradually remove them. All well-written difficulty is of this nature. We encounter it in Chopin, Liszt, Raff, Thalberg, Moszkowski, Schumann, Mendelssohn, and others. It might appropriately be called "surface difficulty," for it melts away under the influence of persevering practice.
Some passages may be greatly facilitated by being broken up into sections for the two hands, instead of employing only one. Liszt has himself done this for us in many instances, but not in all. His example justifies the application of this procedure, without laying the player open to the charge of being an "artful dodger." In a bravura passage for the right hand, the intervention of the left with a note or possibly more, in each octave, or in each recurring group, will much simplify matters; and, besides serving a technical purpose, seems to have a moral justification. Why should not the left hand "do its bit" for the common good? Of two partners, why should one slave while the other takes his ease?
There is, alas, that further difficulty arising from imperfect notation. The older masters were deplorably lax in the marks they used for their many "ornaments." Even in the "common or garden" matter of the appoggiatura and acciaccatura, they often confused one with the other. They marked them so indiscriminately that it takes some time to find out which of the two is really intended. And here, again, modern editors have come to the rescue, and students have no excuse for not providing themselves with corrected copies. I am presuming, of course, that they have been taught the important difference between these two oft-occurring grace-notes, and I am hoping that there are but few pianists left who would be guilty of so gross a mistake as to speak of a long and a short appoggiatura. To do so would be as reasonable as to speak of a long mile and a short one, or of a heavy pound and a light one.
A special difficulty arises when one hand (generally, but not invariably, the right) is required to keep up a continuous "shake" while bringing out a melody at the same time. This happens in two ways: either the "shake" is to be executed with fingers 1 and 2, leaving 3, 4, 5 free for the melody notes, or the "shake" is to be executed with fingers 4 and 5, leaving 1, 2, 3 free. A well-known instance of this occurs in the Finale of Beethoven's Sonata appassionato. But von Bülow and others have explained how this difficulty is to be met. The explanation acts as a perfect "open sesame" which unlocks the closed door. It consists in not making the "shake" truly continuous, but interrupting it at every occurrence of a note of melody. The pace at which the whole thing should be taken will cover the gaps, so that the ear cannot detect them. The same solution applies to the "shake" variation in Thalberg's famous arrangement of Home, Sweet Home and other similar cases. It is the notation that is at fault.
In this short article it is not possible to allude to other difficulties which most advanced players encounter at some time. And besides, the expressions "difficult" and "not difficult" vary according to individual ability. What A may find difficult may not prove so to B, and vice versa. Piano playing is a serious occupation, not by any means a diversion for fools. Much of what every pianist (even the greatest) has accomplished, he has had to discover for himself. No preceptor can possibly teach all there is to to learn.
Many of us know what a rude man once replied to a fond parent, who had informed him that the Piece his daughter had just played was very difficult. "I wish," said the boor, "she had found it impossible!" If pianists would content themselves with playing a moderately difficult piece beautifully, these rude persons would have less occasion to make cutting remarks. And, after all, a good chop, well cooked, and well served, is far more appetizing, and far better in its after-effects, than a badly cooked, badly served ragout. And music is the food of the soul.
Give me the good music that does not entail slavery in its preparation. I don't like you to pant for breath, mop your face, and call out for water when you have finished your performance.