Mastering Mozart: Practicing for Piano Performance

[UNSW, 2009]

            As part of my performance repertoire this semester, I undertook the first movement of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Sonata KV 205 in D Major. I have played several Mozart sonatas in the past, including the sonatas in B-flat, F, C and A. I thoroughly enjoy playing and performing these kinds of works, and I find Mozart to have a boisterous, playful style that really allows me to express myself while simultaneously developing my musical and technical skills.

            When approaching a new work in the past, my first instinct has usually been to simply sight-read it. After reading Musical Performance: A Guide to Understanding, however, I have become aware of the risks that sight-reading a work might inflict upon the performer. One is reminded that in the process of sight-reading, a musician could become comfortable with any mistakes made upon the first read-through (Rink 132). An obvious alternative would be to listen to recordings of the work by professional, renowned pianists. While I have recordings of all of the Mozart sonatas, I didn’t want to sacrifice my personal interpretation of the work by hearing someone else’s first (Rink calls this “cheating”).  So, keeping both of these issues in mind, I played through the first movement extremely slowly, adding phrasing and dynamics in as often as possible.  It is always important to at first get an overall idea of a work’s character and structure, listening to how the music will eventually sound and noting the best ways in which to achieve the desired sound (Berman 118). I sectioned off the piece into three different parts, which I practiced individually: the exposition (pages one and two) the development (page three) and the recapitulation (pages four and five). I usually section off sonatas in this fashion, as well as larger works in general, as it makes practicing far more approachable and easier to tackle. As Rink points out, this sectioning off is what psychologists refer to as “chunking.” Our short-term memory can only hold seven “chunked” items at a time (before sending them off to long-term memory), and so sectioning off the work into larger parts would result in more effective practicing (Rink 105).

            For the first few weeks of practicing, I gradually increased the tempo of the sections until the first movement in its entirety had reached 96 beats to the quarter note. In order to increase the metronome one increment, I required myself to play all three sections (separately) without any mistakes, carefully discerning the difference between a finger slip (a careless mistake that was not due to technique, phrasing, etc) and a true error (a problem with fingering, technique, placement, etc.). This is part of the “tireless listening to one’s own playing” that is so crucial in resourceful practicing (Berman 126). When I encountered a true error in playing, I would examine the score to double check that I was playing the right notes, and assess what exactly was wrong with my playing; after all, it does not suffice to simply notice that a passage is wrong (Berman 126-127).  After fixing the problem, I would practice the section repeatedly, first slowly then gradually increasing the tempo until I could play it up to speed. I did not allow myself to continue with the work until I had played the passage correctly five times in a row. A teacher had given me this “five-times-through” rule a few yeas ago, and I still find it to be incredibly effective. Even if the problematic passage was four or five measures long (as in measures 17-21), and I played it flawlessly four times but made one mistake on the last beat of the fifth time, I still made myself play it again five more times in a row without error before moving on. That way, I knew the problem sections almost better than the rest of the piece. Any nerves that I might encounter in the measures leading up to the section would be calmed knowing that I had mastered it so thoroughly. 

            This methodology went extremely well for the first few weeks of practice. However, during mid-semester break, I went on holiday for twelve days. Upon my return, I unsurprisingly encountered numerous difficulties at the piano. Throughout the semester, I had already been experiencing setbacks in my practicing, due to timetable conflicts. My internship with the Sydney Entertainment Centre was three days a week, from 9 am to 5 pm on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Class was on Tuesdays from 5-8 pm, Wednesdays from 2-5 pm, and Fridays from 1-3 pm. Choir rehearsal took place on Wednesdays from 4:30-7:30, and my lessons were on Thursday evenings. Obviously, keeping in mind all of the homework and studying necessary for classes, I was left with very little time to practice. Furthermore, as a study abroad student most of my weekends were spent traveling (I’m in Australia for a limited time, and consequently deem traveling an important part of my experience here). Although I purchased a key to the practice rooms at school (I have no piano at my apartment), my schedule left me only Monday nights and Wednesday and Friday mornings to practice. To contend with this time issue, I sacrificed part of my Thursday internship, leaving work early to get in a few hours of practice in before my lesson. This usually resulted in one giant practice session per week, with snippets of playing in between when I had time and energy (and an available piano). I’d never been forced to practice in this fashion before, and it was absolutely terrible.

Retention levels varied, but almost every week I had to go back and relearn at least one section or measure that I had mastered the week or practice session before. In this process, I’ve learned that consistent practicing is absolutely essential to successful musical performance; there is no getting around it. Muscle memory also calls for consistency, and this semester I fear that my muscle memory is weak and that most of my playing is not due to the phenomenon that I have been so accustomed to relying on in the past. 

            I left for holiday on a Wednesday, and returned a week and a half later on a Sunday. I was unable to get to a piano until the following Wednesday, leaving me with a two week gap since the last time my fingers had touched the keys of a piano. Suffice to say, it was quite a stressful practice session. In the development section of the Mozart, I had to bring the tempo down an incredible amount, and my fingers had no idea what they were doing. I was able to retain the sixteenth notes that had previously been giving me trouble, in the downward run of measures seven and eight of the exposition. My muscle memory pulled through for me for most of the fingering throughout the work, and I surprisingly found myself playing through parts of the piece (mostly the exposition) almost unconsciously.

While mistakes were made in almost all of the problem sections, I was still quite pleased with myself for numerous reasons. During practice sessions before I left for holiday, I had habitually circled all of the problem areas, alerting myself to take extra caution a few measures ahead of time. I also marked down metronome numbers, so I knew exactly how fast I could play sections through without mistakes. Both of these things proved to be very useful after a long break from playing, as I never would have remembered the tempo markings, and I wouldn’t have been warned of the problem areas ahead of time. I was also extremely pleased with the way in which I retained the development section. While I certainly had to slow it down again to a tempo well below what I had achieved previous to my holiday, my muscle memory really came through for me and the crossovers and fingerings were not as awkward as it they had been when I first learned it. The melody was distinctive in both the left and right hands in this section, and I was happy that I didn’t have to entirely relearn the development. When I had first encountered this section, it had given me a great deal of trouble. In fact, I practiced these eight measures more than any measures in the first movement. I played extremely slowly, ensuring that the melody notes were clearly heard and that my hands were precisely placed (especially during the cross-overs). This work paid off, as my hands had a strong sense of placement even after the break.

            Gradually I worked the Mozart back up to tempo, but the process was not without a conscious sense of wasted time and energy. I hope to never experience this kind of practicing again, but understand that my situation is unique and that little could have been done to prevent the poor habits. I was aware of the bad practice patterns as they were occurring, and was not surprised that I had to retrace my musical steps so frequently. Because my tutor was on holiday the week after I was, we had to cram in six lessons during the last three weeks of the semester. Consequently, I decided to sacrifice other obligations in my timetable in order to dedicate more time to practicing. I ceased my traveling on the weekends, and resolved to go to campus and utilize the pianos as often as possible. I was determined to practice at least every other day, to keep my playing consistent and to ensure the highest levels of retention possible.

During the end stages of preparation, I brought the tempo back down once again and really focused on my phrasing and dynamics. As the movement began to come together, I realized that I needed to give it an overall shape. Though I had mastered most of the notes, rhythms and dynamics of the work, practicing of the higher artistic order requires the performer to be constantly asking him or herself three questions: How do I want it to sound? Does it sound the way I want? If not, what should I do to make it sound the way I want (Berman 116)? To me, Mozart is lighthearted and playful, and those are the qualities that I wanted to come out in the sonata. After having a listen to the piece in its entirely, I realized that it did not sound the way I wanted it to. Instead, it sounded heavy and aggressive. In my endeavor to be expressive, I ended up overstating the dynamics. The fortes were too loud, becoming furious, and the pianos were too soft, becoming mysterious. It sounded more like Beethoven than Mozart, and the overall affect was not what I had originally intended. In order to make the sonata sound more like the way I wanted it to sound, I had to tone down my dynamic extremes considerably to remain consistent with my interpretations. I wrote a few key words in the opening measures, to think about before I began my performance: bright, airy, and effortless. Concentrating on these words, I hope, will enable me to set the mood of the work in my head before playing, and allow myself to express—even under pressure—my interpretations of the work effectively.

  

Works Cited

Berman, Boris. Notes From the Pianist’s Bench. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000.

Rink, John (Ed.). Musical Performance: A guide to understanding. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

     2002.