ten thousand stars

February 22nd, 2009 :: Recipes for Technique

Years ago when I was living in Boston, I audited a piano pedagogy course at New England Conservatory, taught by Jean Stackhouse. It was there that I was first introduced to the enlightening idea that rhythms could be verbalized some other way than simply the traditional "One Two-and Three-e-and-a Four."

Jean introduced me to the idea that we could use a non-traditional rhythmic verbalization to "count" rhythms, making use of the natural rhythmic nature of our language. Later my experience in Dalcroze Eurhythmics only strengthened the idea that there was a more organic way to feel rhythms than the dry, unrhythmic counting of my childhood. Using our rhythmic English language to teach students to feel rhythms is not, as I previously supposed, cheating.

So over the years I have developed lists of words I frequently turn use to verbalize rhythms. Jean has so many phrases and words for various rhythmic patterns that I suspect she must make lists of them at night when she can't sleep. I often have kids in performance classes come up with words that work for various note-values in hopes that over time they will develop a rhythmic language of their own. Of course, the flip side is that while my students are fantastic at seeing rhythmic patterns as opposed to individual note-values unconnected with one another, they often are a bit suspect when counting in traditional ways, which makes them appear awkward when talking about rhythms in band or orchestra. I try to remedy this by switching back and forth between the traditional and the non-traditional when dealing with rhythms, in hopes that, like children who grow up bi-lingual, they will develop ease in both languages.

Here are some rhythmic words and phrases to get you started in making your own lists. I cannot claim most of these; they are ideas picked up in various Dalcroze and pedagogy workshops, or stolen from students along the way. It is time, however, they became part of the public domain.

Quarter-notes:

Yum

Cone

Yeah

Boom

Eighth-notes:

Taco

ice-cream

ti-ti

eighth-note

mommy

Triplet:

blueberry

strawberry

beautiful

melody

merrily

Sixteenth-notes:

watermelon

pepperoni

alligator

Mississippi

huckleberry

Many times when teaching rhythmic 5-Finger Positions I will use rhythmic language and "Ta/ti-ti" language interchangeably. In fact, I may very well write out both in students' assignment notebooks. Looking back at the previous five rhythmic examples, in rhythmic language they would look like:

26. Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta

Ice cream Cone, Ice cream cone, Ice Cream Cone

27. Ta Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ta Ti-Ti Ta

Yum Yum Ice Cream Cone Yum Ice Cream Cone

28. Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ta Ta Ti-Ti Ta

Yum Ice Cream Cone Yum Yum Ice Cream Cone

29. Ta Ti-Ti Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta

Yum Ice Cream Ice Cream Cone Ice Cream Cone

30. Ti-Ti Ti-Ti Ta Ti-Ti Ta Ta

Ice Cream Ice Cream Cone Ice Cream Cone Yum

(Note how often I use the same words over and over again. This is mostly because I don't want to confuse the issue and using the same words repeatedly ingrains the patterns. Or you can just assume that I really like ice cream.)

I don't limit my verbalization to younger children; using it with teenagers and adults often unravels rhythmic tangles immediately. My older students tease me saying that all I do is talk about food, which isn't far from the truth. Lessons make them hungry, they tell me. There are worse things.

The root of the problem is probably not what life has thrown at me this month, but rather how ungrounded I have gotten the last few months. It started back with the hand problems I developed last winter. These have come and gone, depending on my performing load at the moment or how taxing the music I needed to learn might be. But some time ago, I promised everyone in my life that I would take some time off from playing the piano, give my hands a complete break and see if I could unwind this problem even further than my daily maintenance therapy allows me to do. I played my last recital of the semester on December 15, and then took a month off. ("The Break," as my friends and family named it.) "How's The Break going?" concerned friends would call and ask. Fine, I'd answer, most days breezily. Over the holidays there were plenty of distractions to keep me busy; it was actually a less stressful holiday than usual, because I wasn't trying to practice. There were a few touch-and-go days, and hours when I thought I just might climb the walls if I couldn't practice; nights where I thought surely the center of my being had been taken out and buried somewhere far away. I have long known that I don't just practice to stay on top of my chops or to learn music for some upcoming gig. I practice because that time on the bench grounds and centers me; it is both my meditation and my art. Without it, I am more than a little lost.

I began edging back to the piano bench in mid-January. I was ready -- beyond ready -- to get back to the piano, but getting back into it hasn't really been that easy. My hands are status quo--neither significantly worse nor significantly better. I am blessed with a triple whammy of carpal tunnel tendencies: I am a small woman, which gives me little room for error in my joints; I have an aunt and a mother who have had CT surgery in both wrists, signifying genetic tendencies; I am both a pianist and a writer, spending hours on one keyboard or another. I will have a lifelong fight to stay ahead of the problem which, even with the best technique and conscientious care, will be a tough battle. But my hands haven't been the recent issue. Instead, there was the realization that my life was plenty full enough without doing three hours of practicing a day. In the days before my return to practicing, I wondered exactly how I was going to manage again. Days of teaching and writing and general household chores of cooking and cleaning kept me busy enough, I was surprised to find. I got a glimpse of what it might look like not to be maxed out all the time. I taught better; I wrote better; I was a better friend and wife. I wanted more than anything to get back to the piano, but what I didn't want to get back to was the sense that my best self was once again compromised.

So, as I eased back in, I found myself conflicted: eager to play again, but resentful of what taking on this art form demands of my life and my relationships. And several weeks in, I am far from finding my stride. Although I am not playing more than two hours a day, tops, it still is hard to squeeze in. I've all but stopped writing, the books I picked up over the holidays are sitting on the floor by the couch, unopened. I haven't cooked in ten days.

Every morning, my black and white cat Yun-Sun and I have a ritual. While I am sitting on the couch drinking my cup of coffee and reading, she jumps into my lap and places her head onto my shoulder. She nuzzles against my neck for several minutes, purring her quiet purr, and then jumps down again. This happens every morning like clockwork, and my husband says that this ritual is a significant one, that by this action Yun-Sun is saying, "OK. I'll be your cat for another day." By snuggling up with her, I essentially reply, "OK. I will take care of you for another day." And so, daily we repeat this ritual, re-establishing our bonds for another 24-hour period. It occurs to me that this is not a bad way to live one's life: to take every day as it comes, and to actively revisit our commitments and relationships on a daily basis. Certainly, it makes more sense to me than those Five-Year Planners they sell in bookstores, with pages for long-term and short-terms goals and action items. I can handle today, at least most days; I can build a life and a schedule, even complete with daily to-do lists and action items. But beyond that, goal setting seems futile and useless. I have never been able to dream big enough to capture all of what life might throw at me. If I were in charge, no doubt, my life would be much smaller and much less rich than my current version. In fact, I think we get into trouble the minute we start projecting too far into the future, because the future is not guaranteed, nor can it be predicted. I would have never dreamed I would be living in New Mexico. I didn't manipulate life's events so I would end up being a writer and a pianist; it just sort of happened, one day of authentic living folding into another, until a life's work began emerging.

Here's what I know: tough months, physical challenges, professional and personal disappointments be damned, I can handle today. OK. I will take care of my two cats. I will be a wife, a daughter, a friend, a sister to my loved ones. I will be a teacher for another day: fixing mistakes, problem-solving thorny passages, witnessing small acts of making music, all the while juggling the roles of mentor, musician, and psychologist. I will be a pianist and a writer, committing myself to spending hours wrestling with notes and words for another 24-hour period. My ability to cope might get dicey if I think too much about what is being demanded of me or if I look too far into the future, but today, today, I can manage.