Last night I had a concert experience that shows how hard it is for us modern mortals to trust that sound conveys meaning beyond technical perfection.

Piotr Anderszewski played Mozart's Piano Concerto in B-flat K. 456. It is conspicuously written so that when the piano's entrances follow wind sections the piano sounds out of tune. One can only conclude that this must be intentional since the piano sounds perfectly in tune the rest of the time.

A colleague in the audience (not a pianist) was, however, shocked. "The piano was so out of tune!"

Could there be a more convincing demonstration of the rich complexity of the piano sound?

Ironically, playing the piano can be a tremendous distraction from making music at the piano.

Can you imagine how that might be true?

Consider grace and elegance. For most mortals they exist in a fantasy world where there is no physical limitation -- no heaviness or awkwardness, everything functioning effortlessly without error or doubt.

I think I am describing what I call ear-pure listening, that is, listening ideally, as one imagines music.

Imagined music is music.

The keys of the piano are not what make the music. The music is made by the strings. Listening to the infinite wealth of complex vibration they release is what releases the grace and elegance of even the most awkward child. (Is there a child who doesn't believe her or himself to be that most awkward child?)

Someone asked me the other day to define what I teach. This is what I teach.

The critical part of yesterday's post is the imagined/remembered question: "Can't they see how clumsy I am?"--a question worthy of some spinning out.

A child honestly believes that adults can discern their every need: after all, don't they feed you when you are hungry and comfort you when you cry?

No matter how intelligent the child there are needs that only a specialist can detect because they know how to pay attention to the whole inarticulate being.

It does not require extraordinary sensitivity for a child to know "how clumsy" he or she is: being consistently the last one chosen for the team is a pretty clear indication of that. But musical talent may be for just such a child the sign that something else is going on--an alternative source of grace and elegance.

Talent does not make the need go away, however. Despite the praise (perhaps overly lavish by way of compensation for the more obvious clumsiness) the child may still feel clumsy, even while being applauded for playing the piano.

What makes your playing convincing is that you can respond quickly and effectively to your own musical insights, conscious or unconscious. A triumphant moment in one student's lesson last week occurred when she purposefully changed an articulation; I heard it and commented on it because it was so clear and so interesting. I pointed it out to her thinking that perhaps she had done it unconsciously, as often happens. Lo and behold! She had done it on purpose. The idea was her own, and it was a good idea. What pleased us both was that it had been clearly audible.

First steps to mastery.

The more I deal with young children the more I believe that true synthesis of body and brain is possible only when gross-motor coordination is adequately developed. Too-early emphasis on fine-motor skills keeps the child's function at a superficial level. A child forced in this way cannot tap the deep energy of individual perception and desire; every achievement is based on rote learning.

Many bright children are neglected in this regard: Parents and teachers are so delighted to have an obvious achiever that they fail to perceive the child's hidden needs. I recall such a feeling from my own childhood. "Can't they see how clumsy I am?"

I would be interested in knowing if you had similar feelings as a young learner.

Even people who really like to eat don't eat their favorite food all day long. A well-balanced diet makes the good stuff taste even better.

Music is more than a little like food. We need a well-balanced diet: some songs, some dances, some abstract pieces like fugues or sonata-allegro movements. (In fact a Classical sonata is a well-balanced diet with a sampling of each of the above.)

Just as we learn to eat well we can learn to savor music of varying types, periods, styles. Why not use this as an approach to musical satisfaction? It beats learning every new piece as if climbing yet another Himalaya.