Perspectives: What I have discovered when learning modern music

Recently, I launched my next series of concerts across the east coast of Australia called “New. Novel. Next” and in my own private practice and, recently, in performances, I have discovered a few things about what it is to successfully convey music of the 20th and 21st centuries.

“New. Novel. Next.” was borne out of wanting to step away from Chopin and expand my musical horizons with compositional styles that I had not played since my conservatorium days. In 2014 and 2015 I played 28 recitals which featured the music of Chopin, Mozart, and Liszt and, admittedly, I was tired. Whilst I can appreciate (and be HUGELY envious of) those high-octane recitalists with 200 concert-a-year calendars containing nothing but the Schumann Fantasie and Beethoven Sonatas, I felt drained and bored after barely 30 over two years.

So, at the end of 2015, I decided that 2016 would focus on modern music; trying to understand it better, and trying to expand my repertoire by including it more in programs. The end result was the recital series “New. Novel. Next.” which is a rotational recital program of 60 pieces (this means that 60 pieces are chosen and then rotated through each concert – no one concert is the same experience) that encompass everything from Debussy onward. For this recital series, I also commissioned a work from an American composer, Forrest Starling, to boost the experience of bringing something new to the table.

The following composers are represented on the programs:

Denes Agay, Miriam Hyde, Frank Hutchens, Forrest Starling, Aaron Copland, Robert Muczynsky, Alfred and Mirrie Hill, Peter Sculthorpe, Larry Sitsky, Bela Bartok, Glenn Hunter, Nigel Sabin, John Cage, Dmitri Shostakovich, Claude Debussy, Maurice Ravel, Alan Silvestri, John Williams, Zez Confrey, Jelly Roll Morton, Jesse Greer, Arnold Schoenberg, Anton Webern, Rodion Shchedrin, Keith Humble, Dulcie Holland, Stephen Sondheim, Art Tatum, John Ireland, and Frank Bridge.

As is usual in all of my recitals, there is a strong Australian contingent. The reasons behind this (concerning ALL of my recitals) will be shared in another post. Essentially, I was trying to cover all areas within modern music – atonalism, post romanticism, aleotoricism, serialism, English pastoralism, stream of consciousness composing, jazz, novelty solo, transcription, popular music/musicals, film scores, and video game music. I think, for the most part, I succeeded in narrowing a lot of this music down in order to rotate it through a series of 20 recitals throughout the year. It has been an amazing experience so far (9 concerts down!) and I am sure the next 11 will be just as exciting. I have met interesting people, students, teachers, and fellow performers who have asked some interesting questions, including one I heard more than once: what have you discovered from doing this?

The answer is immediate: I have discovered contrast on a whole new level.

Let me explain…

When I play the music of Chopin, it’s the same. The music itself is different from piece to piece, but the execution remains the same; the touch and tonal control needed in Chopin remains the same, even when it is pushed to its limits through various virtuosic technical hurdles. It seems like I am diminishing the craft of performing his music, but what I am really saying is that the technique and style for Chopin is inherent regardless of difficulty or ease. I believe this can be said for Mozart, Liszt, etc as well. With modern music, my scope and range was tested and tested again. I have since used elbows for aggressive tone clusters, I have well and truly ripped skin off the back of my hand playing glissandi (especially in one piece that utilises them non-stop!), I have plucked strings, clapped, whistled, made whale noises, I have thumped and flogged the keys with my fist, and I have done things with pedals that I didn’t think was possible. Another advantage is the copious amounts of reading I have done in the last few months – biographies, technical treatises, research papers, essays, and textbooks on modern piano playing and interpretation, composers, and history. I found myself constantly aware of trying to mentally break free from the classical constraint of thinking of “tone”this and “tone”that, and, as a result, became much more of a learning experience than I could ever have imagined (this is not to say that modern music is to be played without attention to tone! On the contrary, tone is of the utmost importance but with many different elements and freedoms! Anti-Classicist, if you will)

I won’t wax lyrical any further other than to say that I am enjoying this series of recitals very much. I’m enjoying the reading, the history, the listening, the practicing, the different technical approaches, and the myriad of responses (emotional and otherwise) that I have received from audience members. The after concert talks have been excellent and inspiring to say the least.

One last discovery – the guest home that I generally stay in when playing in Sydney has a neighbouring dog who remains silent when I practice…

I can report that he absolutely hates the music of Arnold Schoenberg.



Perspectives: You Don’t Need To Be A Doctor To Understand Your Hand, But You Shouldn’t Be A Piano Teacher If You Don’t!

Many years ago, I had an expensive anatomically correct medical model of a human hand that was a regular feature on top of my piano at my studio. It was quite a unique model in the sense that the skin could be removed to see the muscles and the intricate vein systems underneath along with blood flow indicators and numerical signposts. I no longer display this model in my studio due to a complaint from a parent that it “horrified” her child no end! It looks very similar to this: isn't really that scary!

…it isn’t really that scary!

I named him Frank and I purchased him when I was a first year Conservatorium student. My aim was to better understand what I was working with; what each muscle did; where blood moved and how tension collected and released. I still own Frank but he only gets brought out for my older students – which is a shame. I know that medical models can be horrifying or, “gory and unnecessary” (words used by the aforementioned parent), but they are a wonderful thing to see and touch; they can be purchased for all the organs and limbs of the human body and quite often adorn the shelves in many private doctor surgeries across the world. Mine has the removable parts just like the one in the above picture and my older students derive great pleasure (I suspect it is actually closer to morbid curiosity in some cases) out of putting it back together while following all the little number marks. Part of me wants to rebel and place Frank back atop his rightful throne, but sometimes it is just easier to leave him in the cupboard. On one hand (pun intended), I’d like nothing more than to share something with my students so that they, too, understand how the fingers function. However, on the other, it is difficult to talk a parent down from a ledge once their child has been frightened. Frank was displayed atop my piano with only the best of intentions. I guess now, looking back on it, I should’ve considered that (medical or not) this model had the potential to negatively imprint itself deep into the over-active imagination of a 6 year old.

I wondered for years after if my approach to demonstrating what the hand was really “all about” was a good one with my students. Was it too far? For small children, possibly, but for teenagers, adults, and especially teachers, definitely not. Understanding the hand is something that seems to be only taken seriously by few teachers (at least in my experience), when, in reality, ALL teachers of the piano should hold some sort of anatomical and physiological knowledge of the limb. I feel that regardless of other pedagogues of the Late-Classical and Early Romantic periods, the best person to start with for this brief blog, is Carl Czerny.

Czerny: A True Clinician of the Human Hand

Czerny: A True Clinician of the Human Hand

Czerny can be either a blessing or a curse to every pianist, this is mostly due to the divided academic discourse over the benefit of his piano studies. Many piano students the world over know of (and fear) the rigorous technical demands in the two infamous collections of etudes The School of Velocity Op. 299 and The Art of Finger Dexterity Op. 740. It is quite often speculated as to how he amassed the hundreds of etudes in his oeuvre, the implication that the sheer volume may mean they are of no merit. On the contrary…

There is a tonne of anecdotal and historical evidence surrounding Czerny. Whether it be letters to and from pupils, pianists, and royalty, Czerny’s methods of teaching were well known. Perhaps the best and most insightful account was that during a piano lesson, he could sit beside a student, instantly recognise a problem in their hand, and have an etude on the technical issue written for them before the lesson ended. Such feats of pedagogy (unique for their time) added to his already sealed reputation as an exceptional pianist and teacher of some of Europe’s brightest pupils. These historical accounts have led to many recent editors to label him a “clinician of the hand”.

But what exactly is a clinician of the hand? What do they do?

A hand clinician nowadays comes under the medical banner of an Orthopaedic Hand Surgeon. These specialists treat many injuries concerning joints, muscles, and types of damage to the limb. Often times they work alongside Rheumatologists concerning some conditions like bone spurs, RSI (Repetitive Strain Injury), and arthritis; they also work alongside neurosurgeons concerning disorders such as dystonia and, in some cases, muscular dystrophy. Is it correct to place Czerny alongside these medical practitioners? The answer is no. Czerny was no more a doctor than he was a dentist! What is meant by “clinician of the hand” in Czerny’s case is that he understood how the hand worked, what to do with it, and what not to do. He understood how the thumb moved, how the fingers moved, how to change hand positions to create different sounds and effects, and how the arm and wrist worked in conjunction with tone, touch, and technique.

Czerny was no doubt aware of injuries at the keyboard (pianist/teachers like Kalkbrenner had a reputation for torturing their students with maliciously large amounts of repetitions which were restricted to finger movements instead of utilising other movements from the wrist backward up the arm) and, there is also no doubt that he understood tension and release, especially from the wrist and forearm. Czerny was astonished at the freedom that the young Franz Liszt displayed when he visited for his lessons. Czerny recounts how, regardless of Liszt’s whimsical whole body movements, his high fingers and flexible wrist, the playing was nothing short of astonishing; so much so, that Czerny taught him for nothing. The “finger school” of the baroque harpsichordists was still very much a commonly taught pedagogical method in Europe in the early 1800’s. Czerny used a unique blend of Beethoven’s long phrased “legato which breathed” and this “finger school” within his lessons, which eventually incorporated some further use of the wrist. The correspondence between Beethoven and Czerny (especially concerning the interpretation of Beethoven’s newly published music) gives great insight into Czerny as interpreter, transcriber, and pianist. Beethoven entrusted Czerny with performances, even after scolding him for taking excessive liberties via “adding things” to the original music (wonder where Liszt got it from, hmmm?) – they are wonderful to read.

Although Czerny missed the first publication of Gray’s Anatomy by 1 year, it is possible that he would’ve been well aware of the first few volumes of the most influential medical text of the time, the Atlas of Human Anatomy and Surgery by Jean Baptiste Marc Bourgery:

Please note: this book is NOT for the squeamish. Seriously.

Please note: this book is NOT for the squeamish. Seriously.

But would he have bothered to read it? While it is hypothetical that Czerny knew the preliminary volumes of this book (the entire collection was not published during his life), it is also equally hypothetical that he did not. The lithographs and illustrations (impeccably drawn by artist, Nicolas Henri Jacob) set the benchmark for all medical imagery and surgical procedures for many years after. This unbelievably large text book (yes, you could easily use it as a weapon should you ever face a home intruder!) is now published in its entirety to be purchased by serious collectors, academics, or just for those who have a keen interest in the human body. As for Czerny knowing the book (or knowing similar anatomy guides of the time), it bears mention that his observations on the human hand and its capabilities did not just come down to luck. When looking across the vast expanse of Czerny’s compositions, especially the etudes, those with a keen eye can see that he knew how to immediately, and successfully, solve a problem with beginner pianists, right through to the most competent of virtuosi. As someone who completed all 40 of the Op. 299 studies over the course of three years, I can attest to great results. These results improved the more I practiced them and, along with Op. 740,  I still consider them to be a valuable tool for myself and my students. Carl Czerny, regardless of the hatred that many pianists have for his etudes and his sometimes bland, “salonesque” harmonic framework, is still quite often referred to as the forefather of modern piano technique – for very good reason…

I am happy to say I, too, am a part of this tree (my teacher was a student of Arrau!)

I am happy to say I, too, am a part of this tree (my teacher was a student of Arrau!)

I’m just going to blurt this out: I do not believe you can be a successful piano teacher without even a cursory, anatomical knowledge of the hand. In fact, it’s quite absurd to consider anything otherwise. There is no need to begin a degree in medicine nor is there cause for several hours of reading the most dense orthopaedic text books at your local library: Google is your friend. There are also many concise books (including Gray’s Anatomy) that are just as beneficial for understanding the mechanics of the hand. Anyone can pick up Malwine Bree’s treatise on Leschetizky’s methods of teaching, and they can flick through to all of the drawings and pictures of his hand demonstrating how to correctly take chords, but are they REALLY understanding? Are they really understanding Wieck and his focus on the wrist as a reliever of tension? Do they understand the dialogue between the techniques of Matthay and Breithaupt whilst having no knowledge of weight and muscular movement in and around the hand? Finally, do they know and understand what is under their own skin? In a lot of cases, probably not. Reading book after book of pedagogical practices/ideologies is wonderful, but it isn’t the full picture. Just like a mechanic has to lift the bonnet of the car to better understand the problem, we have to lift the layers of skin off our limbs to understand how the machine works underneath (please, don’t take me literally!). This isn’t a direct stab at ALL piano teachers, it is aimed to bring forth the idea that maybe taking a closer, anatomical look could really open some doors and expand thought, creativity, and progression of technique.

Finally, I have to say, if I didn’t understand about the inner workings of the hand at an anatomical level (sometimes, also at a mental level!), I couldn’t ethically teach someone the piano. I mean, when a student comes and says that their 4th and 5th fingers have trouble playing the broken double thirds in Op. 299 no. 11, I don’t want to be a teacher who throws an exercise at them saying “practice this slowly, it will eventually happen” (I would just like to point out that I do know MANY teachers like this), I want to be the teacher who says “Well! Here is WHY they are doing that and here are some ways we may be able to fix it” and make sure they understand how their hands respond to such challenges.

As for the 6 year old who was scared of Frank, she is now 14. She still tells me, on a regular occasion, that should she ever see Frank again, she will most likely set him on fire for ruining her childhood with nightmares. She’s also currently having some trouble with Op. 299 no. 5 of Czerny.

There’s a twisted sort of irony there…somewhere.

Perspectives: Why I play with sheet music…

The last piece I played memorised was the Brahms Piano Sonata no. 3 in F minor over ten years ago.

I perform with music because, simply put, I can no longer perform without it.

I still, to this day, get asked about it after nearly every recital, which leads me to believe that it is just as relevant a topic as it ever was. So, today, I would like to talk about my decision to no longer play without music and the two major events that lead me down this path.

My “second” university: 

Up until starting at this university, everything I played was from memory. I had recently finished at the Conservatorium and, under the advice of another teacher, I was sent to further my study at this second university, where the focus was to be on the music I wanted to play/specialise etc. Looking back on it now, not much good came from this experience other than meeting who was to be the greatest pianistic influence of my life. The university didn’t (and still doesn’t) have much going for it. I was beginning my third year of study and I was broke; I don’t even think I knew what money looked like anymore! I couldn’t afford shoes for my concerts, I couldn’t afford clothes, and I could barely afford to eat. The shoes that I did have were so close to breaking and falling apart that every day in them was like a torturous journey, hoping against hope that they did not disintegrate because they were all I had.

The last crushing moment on my memory happened at the hands of a staff member. I had been trying for years before hand to get my memory back up to scratch like it was during the Brahms days. I felt so good about the fact that I had all of my pieces memorised after so many years. I was set to play in a lunch time concert and everything that day was going to plan. We were all backstage waiting to go on. I was playing some Chaminade, Chopin, and Hyde – I remember that much! Yet, as I walked out on stage to bow, I felt the arch in my shoe split and the colour drain from my face.

It got worse.

When I sat down to play, I couldn’t lift the front of the shoe to pedal because it was loosely hanging and floppy. I had to, comically, lift my entire leg to place it down on the sustain pedal. To make matters worse, the pedal then got stuck in the underside, causing me to trip into the piano when I got up to bow. Enter mediocre staff member and her friends – who laughed and pointed. The fact that, as staff members, they went to the level of pointing and laughing so publicly, created feelings in me that I had never experienced before concerning music – crippling anxiety, humiliation, and shame. Suffice to say that said staff member was who we used to refer to as a “backyard pianist”, and really should have acted more professionally.

After that incident, I didn’t return to university for almost 5 weeks. I also never got to sit with the woman in question and explain to her how that felt and that what she did was wrong. I tell this story in a rather hilarious vein to my pupils. It almost always comes up when we have a joke about the pitfalls of playing the piano. Little do they know how much psychological damage that situation caused (short and long term!)


Two years ago, I got sick. Very sick. The culmination of 12 months of the worst stress I had ever experienced caused my body to scream “no more!” and shut down. Test after test and scan after scan – all to no avail. Weight gain skyrocketed, my hands began to hurt, arthritis had begun to set in along my spine, and life really started to get me down. Health anxiety was, however, the worst part of all of this (sitting and waiting for tests should almost be outlawed due to the strain it can put on your well-being!).

ALL of the anxiety came flooding back ten-fold. I had convinced myself that, for the most part, it was all under control. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case and the same battles I had fought years ago were, all of a sudden, so fresh and new.

Frankly, I felt like a walking disaster.

Full Circle:

It is now 12 months on from my medical issues and 8 years since that awful moment at university. I feel better and I feel supported. However, I still choose to play with music. That will never change. That decision is firmly rooted.


Well, why not?!

I feel at one with music. I practice exactly the same way as I did before when I was memorising. I don’t see the issue.

I get asked about my students memorising all the time. The answer is, yes, I do encourage them to memorise the music. I also tell them that, at the end of the day, it doesn’t equate to much if (even from memory) it is unmusical, unmeasured, and overall poorly performed.

Ultimately, I felt like a circus animal. Even after bashing out a near 40 minute Brahms Sonata and being questioned about how I store that in my brain, I did not feel propped up. I felt like screaming “You’ve no idea what it took…” – but, that’s just me. My hat goes off to anyone who can do it and do it consistently well in spite of what life throws at them. I, however, am not one of those people.

Don’t me wrong, it was not without trying either. I saw many councillors concerning memory function, I wrote papers concerning it (I was a double degree psychology major!) and spent many years after the fact trying to retrain myself. I could memorise a few small piano pieces here and there, but never again to the level of the Brahms. I play fairly regularly across Australia and overseas and I still see a few raised eyebrows when I mention that I play with sheet music. Sometimes, you even expect patrons to ask for their money back. Very sad…

Just as Liszt changed attitudes with memorisation, I sincerely hope the attitude shifts on playing with sheet music. We are there for the music. There is no certifiable evidence to suggest that memorisation promotes a more musical performance. After all, put your headphones on and listen to the page turns in some of Ashkenazy’s recordings (he is only one of many where the sheet music can be heard “turning” in the recording). It is laughable that he is seemingly “allowed” to use sheet music while he’s in a recording studio away from an audience, but would be condemned by some for using it on stage. What is worse is that his musicality (which is of the highest order) would be challenged and, quite possibly, ridiculed. The entire notion is ridiculous and the contradictions many.

I play with music because it makes me feel safe in my job. It calms whatever nerves I have which can greatly affect the music.

Honestly, I would rather give a good performance with music, than a bad one without, for whatever that is worth.

As a side note, I also pay my page-turners rather handsomely.


Perspectives: Why Miriam Hyde?

Perspectives: Why Miriam Hyde?

Easy: because her music appeals to every aspect of my teaching and performing practice.

Over the years, especially as a ‘student’ pianist, I always wondered if I was going to find my niche. Much the same as Ashkenazy, Lortie, and countless others have traversed the complete works of Chopin, I wanted to find the composer who was going to be just for me; I was so frightened of becoming a modern-day pianist who was required to “specialise” in everything. It’s not that I don’t see the value in being multifarious in an approach to music, I just wanted a composer where the passion would be continually ignited; playing their music would be “my” thing.
Thankfully, I found that in the music of Miriam Hyde. Oddly enough, this has been going on for years without me recognising it.

It began with a grade 6 exam – my first ever piano exam, I might add. I remember hearing a piece by Hyde called Woodland Sketch and wanting to learn it. The girl in my class who used to play it was, herself, a marvellous pianist and I was forever asking her to perform it for me; it was my first Miriam Hyde experience. The piano exam allowed for the last piece to be an “own choice” item, so I leapt at the opportunity to play Woodland Sketch. The rest is history and I have recorded it and performed it ever since. I use it for encores, I teach it to my students, and I am fairly certain that it will remain a piece very close to my heart for years to come.

This lead to experiences with other, beautifully characteristic pieces on the AMEB exam list: Ear Rings from Spain, Minarets, Study in A minor, Water Nymph, and Scherzo Fantastico. At university, I performed many of her concert works and even accompanied a few of her songs. This opened the doors to many of her poems and her autobiographical work, Complete Accord. Among all of this, I got to perform The Fountain and Study in Blue, White, and Gold for her in a workshop environment. I always viewed her as quite a stern woman in her approach but, after the workshop, I experienced a gentle nature which I continue to remember fondly; it remains my last interaction with her.

Since then, my research has been concerned with investigating her pedagogical and concert works for piano. Miriam was a fine concert pianist with a formidable technique – the evidence of this can be found in the recordings of her piano concerti among others. These pianistic elements filter their way through to her compositions from Preliminary to LMUSA and many of these works (Woodland Sketch included) remain the favourites of piano student and piano teacher alike.

With companies like The Keys Press in Perth, Wirrapang Publishers in NSW, along with wonderful people like Dr. Rita Crews, Phillip Wilcher, Hyde’s daughter Christine Edwards, and Professor Larry Sitsky, there is now a growing collection of information regarding her life, pianism, and seemingly endless list of achievements. I am fortunate enough to be adding to that with what is the largest recorded collection of her works for piano (80 videos so far on youtube!). Even though I have a long period of work ahead of me, I am indebted to many of these Australian luminaries for their help. Their writing and, in some cases, their friendship, has helped motivate me even more. I am always discovering new things about Miriam Hyde – there is never a dull moment. I continue being in love with the process of shining light on her work as I progress with honours and masters research.

My first CD will be released in August. It has been recorded and is now in post production. The Complete Piano Music of Miriam Hyde Volume 1 is a labour of love. I specifically searched for recording studios in Sydney and was over the moon when I found Sound Heaven Studios in The Blue Mountains – a place Miriam admired. It felt good to record this music surrounded by such beautiful scenery, which, in essence, is what Miriam’s music is all about.



Woodland Sketch: