A look into the methods that pianists may use to counter the hurdles of biological advantage in performance.
Sergei Rachmaninoff, one of the last great composers of Romanticism, was responsible, more often than not, for some of the most beautiful and most complicated music of the early 20th century. ‘Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor, Op. 30’, considered a particularly challenging piece in the standard classical piano repertoire, was performed by the composer in New York City in 1909 and ever since, as David Dubal noted, has been respected and even feared, by many pianists. The performance is a testament to Rachmaninoff’s own technical skill and expertise in concert performance, but he had a slight advantage.
You see, Sergei Rachmaninoff had unusually large hands.
The capable ‘stretch’ of a pianist's hands, or the two furthest points which a single hand can reach between without moving, is on average, around 228mm. This allows the performer to reach a span of nine white keys, and comfortably play a C key, for example, alongside a D key nine notes higher. Pushing oneself, the player may be able to reach a tenth key, although this would require significant strain and likely not be achievable for a long duration.
Rachmaninoff did not reach nine keys, nor did he reach ten. His reach extended twelve keys, or 304mm, and was a huge advantage when playing pieces that required massive leaps in short spans of time. Similarly, the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt’s composition ‘La Campanella’ requires stretching for two whole octaves (about 406mm) within the time of a sixteenth note (less than a second) in its infamous ‘bells’ segment.
Like Rachmaninoff, Liszt performed his own pieces with great skill, and also like Rachmaninoff, Liszt possessed hands stretching over 300mm.
Since the introduction of these technically challenging pieces and others, many performers have had to develop their own techniques to combat the biological disadvantage, with varying degrees of success. An early legend claims that Robert Schumann used a finger stretching device in order to extend his reach; this didn’t work, and he ended up partially paralysing his right index and middle fingers in the hope of making them stronger.
Machine-assisted mutilation aside, the obvious solutions to this problem are heavy practice, and predetermined accuracy. In my own experiences, this can be as repetitive and simplistic as practising the jump between two notes for what feels like an eternity, until your ears ring with the two notes you are so desperately trying to join together. Some pianists rely on colour coding the keys as they practise, limiting the room for error if the notes are, say, two white keys that have to be played with split-second accuracy. Even this method is one of great trial; I speak as someone with a handspan wider than average, though not quite as wide as Rachmaninoff. What if an aspiring concert pianist with smaller hands is keen to learn?
The tragedy is that, besides violently repetitive practice, there is no hope for the small-handed pianist. Such wide jumps rely on the stretching of the thumb and the little finger, and as a result, only building up strength, and if possible, width, will be an asset.
If this proves to be challenging, another popular decision for pianists with smaller hands is to simply omit notes. Although some pieces like ‘La Campanella’ become noticeably ‘thin’ when this occurs, many can lose a middle note or two to better accommodate the strenuous demand already placed on the hands.
There is still an argument to be made for custom-modifications of instruments to better perform large-hand-orientated pieces. Nothing as dangerous as a finger stretching device is on the table, but one could utilise a custom-sized keyboard for example, to better recreate the impeccably accurate sounds of the master players. Of course, to simply suggest a custom keyboard borders on absurd, given the potential price point, but it’s worth mentioning; piano is not just the large-handed game, and out there, many are attempting to overcome the challenges laid out by the composers before them with inventiveness and rehearsal.
It's critical that any approach to challenging pieces is not one of force, lest you end up like Schumann. It may be a cliché to call upon practice as the most reliable method of training the fingers, but there simply is no alternative. Tiny modifications to the piece may be a short-term solution, but for the performers who are true purists, this may not even be an option. Biological advantages will always be present in the art of Piano playing, and so the best option would be to work within a repertoire you find comfortable and sustainable. Rachmaninoff 3 might be the apex of challenges, but if it becomes damaging, then what is the point of playing? With additional credit to Alex Alcock. Image courtesy of Dolo Iglesias via Unsplash. Image license can be found here.
Comments