In the Kreisler Allegro, the violinist presented a sixteenth-note passage in this manner:

Score 1: Kreisler: Allegro, mm. 25-28

Kreisler: Allegro, mm. 25-28, Violin part

Although any listener would agree these notes are indeed sixteenths, the playing is dull and somewhat mechanical. There are several factors to consider in passages such as this, including harmony and counterpoint. But I shall focus on what I refer to as metric placement and stress, which are part of a broader concept of rhythmic inflection.

“Metric placement” is a simple concept that describes the hierarchy of stressed notes within a measure. The Kreisler Allegro is in ¾ meter; generally speaking, the downbeat is in the strongest metric position, followed by beats 3 and 2, respectively. Similarly, the off beats (in this case, off-eighth notes, or the third notes of each group of four sixteenths) are in a stronger metric position than the second and fourth sixteenths of each group.

Being “in a stronger metric position” doesn’t mean that heavy accents are required. Rather, rhythmic inflection is informed by metric placement much like the stress placed on words by a gifted actor. When a student ‘kicks’ notes with false accents, I often point out the metric stress of the passage and say an English phrase or the student’s name to emphasize the point.

“How do you say your name? – JEN-ni-fer. Would you answer if someone called you ‘jen-ni-FER,’ or ‘jen-NI-fer’? When you play with random accents, your em-PHA-sis is on the wrong syl-LA-ble!”

This can be uproariously funny to some international students. If I try this with a Chinese student, for example, the misplaced emphasis coupled with the wrong ‘tone’ for a Chinese name can produce something that is not only poorly stressed, but completely unrecognizable. I only hope that I’m not saying something I don’t mean to say…

The point is quickly made, and is reinforced by having the student sing or ‘orate’ the musical passage. This sets the stage for teaching how metric placement influences musical phrasing. In a passage like the Kreisler example, it’s helpful to organize one’s conception of the sixteenth-notes into groups that cycle toward the next pulse, thinking “2-3-4-1, 2-3-4-1″ rather than “1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4.”

A subtle inflection is felt, not only avoiding unnecessarily strong accentuation of main beats, but also the random ‘kicking’ of unstressed notes. In turn, this ‘cycling’ phrasing produces a kind of inner momentum that allows a larger architectural unit to emerge—in this case, a four-bar phrase with a gentle “ebb-and-flow” rubato that happens proportionally:

Violin part with “ebb-and-flow” rubato

Another passage that flummoxed our Kreisler duo was this one:

Score 2: Kreisler: Allegro, mm. 53-56

Both performers dutifully played their rhythms, but without any lilt, meaning that the meter was a very pronounced (and equal) ‘three.’ It was square enough that it could have been counted in six!

Here is a prototypical example of Leon Fleisher’s “secret of rhythmic playing” (discussed here, and in Soundpoint #5). The pianist’s rhythms provide an opportunity for both performers to project poise, elegance, and charm, by slightly compressing the shorter notes of the subgroups—by being as late as possible…but still in time:

Piano part mm. 53-56

I asked the violinist to play only the notes that corresponded with the pianist’s, with a gentle lilt, like so:

Skeleton of violin part mm. 53-56

Then I had him play the score as written, with this awareness of the formerly ‘hidden’ rhythm. What emerged had the sense of a larger ‘macro-rhythm,’ in one big pulse to a bar, or the sense of no accentuation on the second beat at all—such as “1; (2) 3-1; (etc.)” or “1; 3-and-a -1; (etc.)”

Complete violin part mm. 53-56

These examples are just the tip of the iceberg when considering how to respond to notated rhythms. In addition to rhythm, musical phrasing comes to life via other elements such as harmony and form. But understanding metric placement, spoken and sung rhetoric, and how to uncover internal rhythms can provide students with tools to imaginatively conceive of their phrasing. This in turn supports better musical listening in all voices (e.g., melody, bass, and internal voices) and in harmonic relationships. These elements combine to allow the overall musical architecture to emerge organically.

Without question, it’s challenging for most teachers to regularly incorporate sight-reading during lessons, what with technical studies, theory, musicianship, and repertoire—let alone harmonization, transposition, improvisation and other keyboard skills. But since one of the most important things a teacher can do is to guide her students toward, in effect, becoming their own teachers, I am convinced that sight-reading is a vital skill that can facilitate—or even liberate—other aspects of music-making at the piano.

One pre-college teaching paradigm favors having students study three or four pieces over an entire academic year, usually in preparation for a competition and/or a recital. The study of ‘the music’ is stressed, and the student’s repertoire may become considerably more refined over the course of many months. Certainly, I have heard students present fine performances after following this routine. Others, however, do not respond as well to working in this manner.

In either case, this way of teaching does not encourage sight-reading. Without this skill, the student can rely too heavily on the teacher for musical ideas. This dependence can make it difficult for the student to become self-reliant, reticent to approach new music or to experiment and venture into unfamiliar territory.

This is where sight-reading assessment relates to the upcoming auditions at my school. It’s common for my colleagues and me to hear potential in an applicant’s playing and then to observe the same applicant stumble through an unfamiliar piece of music. Sometimes we take a chance on the student who sight-reads poorly and sometimes we don’t. Although anyone can improve, our experience has shown that students without this skill struggle to learn music at an acceptable pace. This, in turn, hinders musical and technical development.

Most pre-college piano students do not have vocational designs and will pursue other, non-music fields. But all students benefit from including sight-reading into their daily practice.

An approach I’ve found to be effective features three ways of working with piano music: blocking, earnest study (that may or may not be leading toward a performance) and sight-reading.

Blocking: Using unfamiliar repertoire that is not difficult–but too hard to sight-read easily—pianists may ‘block’ a piece or a section of a larger work by reading more deliberately, analyzing the harmonic and formal structure, planning effective fingering, and choreographing efficient technical gestures, to familiarize themselves with new music. For beginning and intermediate students, the pieces may be only one to two pages long. Advanced players may expand their knowledge of repertoire by budgeting more time to blocking every day—as opposed to the common practice of playing only those pieces that are being studied with a teacher, or those that are scheduled for performance.

Earnest Study: This is a more detail-oriented activity, where many pianists spend most of their practice time. Depending on what individuals find most stimulating, serious study may involve isolating technical problems, singing parts, stimulating the imagination through extramusical means, and innumerable other practice techniques to improve one’s playing. (For those with performance goals, I differentiate a fourth category, “Refining Toward Performance.” This is an extension of “Earnest Study,” but recognizes the additional effort required to bring repertoire to the highest-possible level. Usually, this involves memorization, as well as physical, emotional, and psychological demands that exceed those required for “earnest study.”)

Sight Reading: Determine your or your student’s ‘level‘ by finding music that is a stretch to play well the first time*. After a quick review of the score (meter, key, expressive markings, articulation, accidentals, registration, etc.) start by playing just one short example or a one-page piece all the way through, without stopping. For this exercise, it’s important to keep going forward, no matter what happens. I tell students to imagine that they’re accompanying dancers who rely on them to keep the music flowing–that these dancers don’t care about mistakes but do not want their dancing interrupted by stops and stutters!

When a student (usually a conscientious one) ‘stammers,’ by continuing to try to fix mistakes, I have him begin again, but this time I hold a piece of paper up to his music while he plays, advancing the paper to cover up the music just played so that the student’s eyes must keep moving forward. Even if he stops to ‘fix’ a problem, I keep advancing the paper. This invariably causes some anxiety, but the point gets made quickly. Despite some discomfort, this exercise puts students into a heightened state where they become more willing to take chances.

This kind of sight-reading is one activity in piano-playing where mistakes are accepted as a necessary part of the process, and the payoff is considerable. By playing more repertoire, we and our students are presented with many more aural and kinesthetic possibilities. Gradually, pianists become more courageous and feel empowered to tackle increasingly difficult repertoire.

Every musician is on a sight-reading continuum, meaning each of us has a ‘level’ from which to improve. Incorporating sight-reading into our practice and pedagogy can yield impressive benefits and, ultimately, greater joy in music-making, for us and our students.

MacDowell – Piano Sonata No. 2 “Eroica”; III Tenderly, longingly, yet with passion

MacDowell – Sea Piece Op. 55 No. 1: To the Sea

MacDowell – Sea Piece Op. 55 No. 2: From a Wandering Iceberg

MacDowell – Sea Piece Op. 55 No. 3: A. D. MDCXX

MacDowell – Piano Sonata No.3 “Norse”; III Allegro con fuoco

A short man with a worried expression approached. “Please follow me,” he said and led me to a courtyard where we were joined by a professor in the music department who looked similarly perplexed.

“I think there is a problem with the piano for tonight’s concert,” the first man said.

“Okay,” I said, “Let’s go there after the class and test it out.”

They looked at each other. “I think we need to go now,” the short man said.

“Okay,” I said again and joined the two professors, Rebecca, and our driver in the truck.

We drove down dusty roads past lush green jungle and acacia plantations. Located at sea level near the equator, thermometers in Ghana consistently read in the 90s, and there is a great deal of humidity. In other words, this is far from the ideal setting for an acoustic instrument like as a grand piano. Two days earlier, when I taught a master class in a diplomat’s home, I had witnessed how their new piano had quickly deteriorated. But nothing could have prepared me for what awaited us.

The concert grand was completely waterlogged. Many of the keys were stuck in the depressed position while others were stuck in the up position! Some actually produced tones, but their sour sounds continued to ring after I took my fingers off the keys, since their malfunctioning dampers couldn’t stop the strings from vibrating.

“You’re right,” I said, “This piano won’t work.”

The two professors looked downcast. “Ohhhh,” they both groaned. “What will we do?”. After perhaps three seconds, one of them said, “I think there is an electric piano at the Town Hall.”

Prior to that moment, performing concert music on an electric piano was a scene in my worst nightmare. I had recently received my doctorate from a well-known conservatory and was an idealistic assistant professor. Playing on an upright would have been bad enough!

“Let’s go,” I said, and we were off to the Town Hall to pick up a Roland electric.

When we returned to the classroom an hour and a half later, the students were calmly sitting, seemingly in the same places, still waiting. Those who played for me were very musical and eager to try out anything I suggested. One of the students was a composer who played his own arrangement of a Ghanaian folk song, and he gave me a copy of his composition.

Arriving at the concert hall, Rebecca and I positioned the electric piano in front of the soggy grand. When we began rehearsing, we discovered, with the lid open, that the piano’s shell helped to project her voice out into the large auditorium.

Remarkably (there were three power outages throughout the day), the lights and the piano worked for the rest of the evening, and the concert was unforgettable. After a set of songs with Rebecca, I played the young composer’s piece and the crowd went wild, like at a rock concert. But something even more astonishing happened when I played William Grant Still’s “Dark Horsemen.” As the music became frenetic, I heard a crescendo of whooping cries: “Woo! ….Woooo!… WWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

I felt currents of powerful energy cycle repeatedly up and down my spine. As the Still whirled to its completion, the crowd went berserk! It was electrifying. I felt euphoric.

And I knew my priorities had been irrevocably altered; I wasn’t sure what had changed. I just knew my world, and especially my music, meant something different to me after performing for that audience.

Fred and Rebecca Karpoff served as USIA Artistic Ambassadors to six countries in Europe and Africa, including Ghana.