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Exercises for Independence of the Fingers

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An adult (or exceptionally mature young) intermediate piano student soon runs into a few snags. Our brains are going one way, and our fingers can't follow as quickly as we'd like. We smear notes into each other. Our middle, ring and pinkie fingers are still weak--they stutter through passages like saccarine kittens, clumsy in a way that soon loses all cuteness as we struggle along.

Maybe we blew off technic when we were young (guilty!). Maybe we don't have the best teacher. Maybe we're just lazy! Maybe a lot of things.

We WANT to be better. We can almost touch that place where our fingers glissade up and down the keyboard. We hear pieces we desperately want to play, but we can't continue on without...without...we hardly know what.

Enter Drill Sgt. I Phillipp and the "Exercises for Independence of the Fingers". You'll think you're on the Bataan Death March. Your brain will curdle in the heat of thinking. Those who transpose well--or play comfortably by ear--will have an easier time of it, but not much.

They're just exercises, people, but they're blood-chillingly hard. And for each pattern (à la Hanon), you have to transpose them one half-step up on each repetition. "Only the first harmonic forms of each exercise are given", Says the short intro of my copy, circa 1926, "the remaining ten transpositions having to be thought out by the player, who is by this means prevented from practising in that dull, mechanical way which so often acts disasterously on the musical instincts of even the most gifted".

Well, OK, then!

Each measure has just one phrase, prepeated the second time one-half a step up. You're on your own for the rest, on up the octave. Your fingers will protest; they'll cramp, forcing you to RELAX with a soft hand. You'll find yourself breathing hard, as if you're laboring.

You are. "That's a huge diminished chord, there, boy-oh-boy. How on earth do I play it with ten fingers, 4 1/2 steps up??" My fingers began to become strong and independent within the first week. Especially the left hand, which must play counterpoint to the right. No smearing now! My brain, too, gained confidence (and a much-needed break).

Hey, I just started this book and it's GREAT in that gruelling, self-satisfying way that regular gym attendance is. I'm miserable, but I'm so happy! Finally, someone's diagnosed my malaise. I'm not good enough yet. But by the end of this Schirmer series (I haven't yet seen the second book), I've a feeling I'll be damn great. Bring on the Secret Police! I can handle anything.