Breathing is the foundation of being alive.  Without it, we wouldn’t be here.  Learning to breathe properly is the foundation for long-term health.  Without it, all sorts of problems can occur from less oxygen to the brain to pain in the neck and shoulders.

When it comes to playing a musical instrument, I don’t want to inadvertently limit the oxygen to the brain, nor do I want pain.  Breathing properly can alleviate these problems.

Here’s a great tutorial on breathing.  Applying these concepts to playing a musical instrument can take the experience of playing to a whole new level.  Enjoy!

I’ve been rehabbing senior horses as a hobby for over 10 years now.  Horses rarely verbalize.  99% of their communication is with their body.  Observation is key to understanding what they are saying through their body.

Teaching piano, or any other instrument, I have found the same thing to be true.  A student’s body is communicating all the time:  what they do, what they don’t do.  Sometimes what they verbalize is in harmony with their body.  Other times it’s not.  Sometimes they don’t have the skills to verbalize or they are afraid to verbalize.

My job is to create an environment where students feel safe expressing themselves.  When students feel safe, learning goes up exponentially.

I recently had a 9 year-old student come to her lesson not having practiced except for one day.  This was unusual for her.  I was about to launch into a lecture about practice, and something stopped me.  Instead, I chose to get curious about what happened in this student’s world that she barely practiced that week.

It took about 10 minutes to unearth what had happened.  But it was time well spent.  When I asked questions, many times the student just shrugged her shoulders.  But I didn’t let it go.  I kept looking for ways to draw her out.

I then  said, “If I were in your shoes, and I saw this new piece, I would freak out when I got home because it has way more notes than I’m used to.  Is that what happened to you?”

Then the dialogue started.  The student was able to verbalize one tiny sentence about her experience.  Then her dad chimed in saying that when it was time to practice at home, she didn’t want to because all the pieces were hard, and she wanted easy ones.

So then we went to each piece and I asked, “On a scale of 1-10, is this easy, medium or hard?”

After the student rated each one, we got rid of the “hard” one.  Then I found another book that started easy, where she could sight read it, and each following piece added one very tiny new thing.

She had a smile on her face.  She felt like she could do it.

Then, my assignment to her:  learn a new piece each day.  Keep going until you get stuck, and then show me next week.  She left that lesson energized about piano again.

Children are learning how to express themselves.  They are learning to recognize what they feel in their body and translate it into words they can verbalize.  They also test the waters:  Is is safe here to express myself, or will I be chastised?

As a teacher, create an environment where the student feels safe being an imperfect human.  The more we are at peace with being imperfect humans ourselves the easier this is to do.  Share your own experience and challenges learning to play an instrument.  The dialogue can begin.  Learning will go up, and smiles happen all by themselves.

I once had a piano student whose left leg would point slightly to the left when sitting at the piano.  Not a huge issue for a beginner, but for starters, if she ever needed to use the soft pedal, her left foot was not lined up to get there efficiently.

As a teacher, I mentioned it on occasion, and she would move it so it was lined up, but it didn’t feel natural to her.  Inevitably, her left leg would drift right back to its comfortable place pointing outward.

Years later, a new idea popped into my head when I saw her leg pointed slightly to the left as she sat at the piano for her lesson.

I asked her, “Can you feel the relationship between your arms and your legs from a feeling place?”

She paused a moment as she sat on the bench and tuned into her body.  I held the silence so she could get out of her thinking head and feel what was going on.

After a minute or so, as she was noticing her arms and legs from a feeling place, she slightly readjusted how she was sitting.  And to my surprise, her left leg and foot now pointed straight ahead.

I hadn’t said anything about the left leg pointing outward, but when she actually tuned into her body and felt the relationship between her arms and legs, it became more comfortable to have all of her body, left leg included, pointed all in the same direction, straight ahead toward the piano.

As teachers we often point out things for our students to change or adjust as they learn to play their instrument.  What I realized is that having them tune into their body from a feeling place brings about its own transformation on a much deeper level than any word coming out of my mouth.  The experience of it lasts much longer than the verbal explanation.

So the next time you have a student where something is not how you wish it to be, consider withholding the correction, and instead ask them to feel.  They might just discover their own correction.  If you try this, I’d love to hear what you learn.

When I first became aware of tension patterns in my own body, the easiest for me to grasp was when I would hold my shoulders up, however, slight.  When I would notice myself doing that, I would consciously let them fall, and I would feel a natural stretch along the sides of my neck from the muscles I relaxed.

Today, I’ve trained myself to let my shoulders hang while I play.  It’s now so second nature I don’t even think about it.

Next I became aware of my head and if it sat on the top of my spine, where I don’t feel the weight of it, or if I let it come forward off its axis, in which case, I could start to the feel the weight of it and the corresponding strain through my neck, shoulders and upper back.

Today, if I start to feel that the piece I know is becoming difficult to play in the moment, I will go through my mental checklist of making sure I’m letting my shoulders hang and making sure my head is in a straight line with my spine and not tipping forward.  When I do that, the piece I know starts to feel easy again.

The next area I became aware of was holding tension in my jaw.  I had no idea I was doing that until a teacher pointed it out to me, and it wasn’t just when I played the piano.  It was anytime I was worried about something.  I remember going to sleep one night and realizing that I was worried, and I was holding my mouth shut.

Let’s take a detour for just a moment…

My other full-time job, aside from teaching piano, is rehabbing senior horses and reversing the effects of chronic stress in them.  It was in that work that I learned of Linda Tellington Jones and TTouch.  One of her premises she operates from is:

Move the body in a non-habitual way, and just by definition, something new will happen.

She developed TTouch, which is a kind of bodywork based on touching the skin of an animal (or human) and moving it in a complete 1 ½ circles.  You can do this all over the body.  It’s a great way to relieve stress and relax.

So this one night when I could feel the tension in my body as I went to sleep, I thought to myself, “How can I move my body in a non-habitual way?”

I thought a moment, and then took a hold of my cheek with my index finger and thumb, and pulled it out away from my face, made a circle and a half, and then released it.  I can say that I have never moved my body like that in all my life!

I did this all over my face and neck over the next several minutes.  Before I knew it, I felt so relaxed.  The tension was gone.  I slept so well that night.

It’s amazing the amount of tension we can hold in our jaw and not even know it.  When I watch performers, I can’t help it:  I look at their jaw.  I’m curious to see how relaxed it is.  The most relaxed I’ve seen so far is American pianist, Jeremy Denk.  His face was so relaxed playing a Liszt piano concerto I would see his cheeks wiggle when he moved his head.  Wow!

It is possible and even advantageous to have complete relaxation through the head, face, jaw, neck, shoulders and back and play our instrument well.  It is from this place that the effortlessness appears.

The next time you notice some tension in your body, try a few TTouch circles, relax and breathe.  I’d love to hear what you discover!

What is this unspoken language of music between musicians in the moment of making music together?  I was never really aware of just how much communication there was through the felt sense, until it suddenly was not there.

Several years ago I taught a middle-aged woman in a group home for the chronically, mentally ill.  She had played the piano in her younger years, and her family was hoping that music lessons as an adult would help bring some joy and fun back into her life.  She loved to play duets, so we always spent part of the lesson making music together.

While her reading ability seemed to hover at the late elementary/early intermediate level, she knew how to lead and follow with changes in tempo and dynamics.  I could breathe, and she would come in right on time.  I would put a slight hesitation in the music, and she would match it.  It was fun to play together.

One afternoon at her lesson, we were playing a familiar, simple and beautiful duet.  The unspoken, but felt language between us was in full force.

Then suddenly, for a beat or two I noticed that she wasn’t breathing with me like she usually did.  Yet, we kept playing.

Then the next beat came, and the nuance to the phrase wasn’t there, like it usually was.  Something was off, but I didn’t know what.  Yet, we kept going, not saying anything.

A few beats later, I realized she was no longer playing, and I needed to take a hold of her shoulders so she didn’t fall off the bench.

The paramedics came, and they said it was a seizure.

Thankfully, it never happened again, but the felt experience of those moments of being alone in no mans land while playing a duet with another musician really stuck with me.

I never really appreciated just what our body is capable of when we make music.  Our ears hear, our eyes see, and our entire body feels.  There is so much information there that I didn’t realize it until it was gone.

I marvel at the human body’s capacity to breathe, and how we can synchronize our playing to our breath.

My student was in a group home for the chronically, mentally ill, yet she still had the capability to hear, see, feel and make music with her whole body.  When the seizure took away her entire set of music making skills, it gave me a new appreciation of just what her music abilities were, and the abilities of all musicians.

As musicians we are so fortunate to be able to participate in making music, just for the music itself, just for our own expression of being alive, just because.  When I think of music like that, I can’t imagine my life without it.

Have you ever thought about the fact that our head weighs approximately ten pounds?  When it sits on the top of our spine, lined up with our shoulders right below our ears, we don’t really feel the weight of our own head.

Try tipping your head forward for a moment, and see if you can feel the weight of your own head.  What do you notice in your body?  For me, I feel strain through my neck and shoulders.  Even my breathing becomes shallow.

As musicians, why do we care about what our head is doing when we are playing?  Here’s why I care:

1. If I have shallow breathing, I have less oxygen to my brain.  Less oxygen to my brain makes it more difficult for me to play.

2. If my body is busy trying to keep my head attached to my body by using the muscles in my neck and shoulders, then that is energy that is NOT going into the instrument I’m playing.  For me, that’s the piano.  As a result, neither the piano, nor I will be at our fullest expression of ourselves.

Here’s a wonderful video done by a physical therapist, about posture, and the head in particular, and why it’s important to keep it lined up over the shoulders:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=effXAxgxXb0.

What have you noticed about your own head and playing, or that of your students?  I’d love to hear what you’ve discovered.

Learning to play a musical instrument takes many skills all rolled into one musician.  A good teacher only hands out the information as the student is ready.  Too much too soon can be overwhelming.  Likewise, not enough information creates boredom.

How do we know when it’s too much or not enough?  That is the magic question, and one that I encourage students to begin to recognize the answer to within themselves as they grow up.

Many times students will do what a teacher asks simply because the teacher said it.  While I’m all for respecting teachers, I’m more interested in a collaborative relationship with a student, where if I suggest something that is overwhelming to them, they feel comfortable saying so.

However, sometimes students don’t know how to articulate what they feel in their body, nor what it means.

I once suggested to a student to learn “x” for next week.

I saw his body language change ever so slightly, and so I asked, “Does that feel do-able to you?”

At a loss for words, he didn’t know.

I asked, “What do you feel in your body?  Are there knots?”

Sure enough, there were.

I responded, “This means that what I’ve asked you to do is too much.”

So I broke the task down into smaller tasks, one for each day of the week.  Suddenly that big task didn’t look so daunting after all.

Then I asked, “How does that feel?”

With a smile on his face he replied, “Yes, I can do that.”

Learning to play a musical instrument from a place of curiosity without fear, nor anxiety, can be a lot of fun.  Each time knots appear in our stomach, no matter how small, we can acknowledge them and let them give us information about what we are doing.  Does our body want us to go slower?  Does it want the task broken down into smaller tasks over several days?

The answers are endless, and they are found within us.  How do we know we’re on the right track?  The knots will transform into curiosity and enthusiasm, and even a smile on your face.  You’ll feel like you can do it, and you can’t wait to try.  How fun is that?!

Several years ago I was performing a simple, beautiful duet in a concert.  I had the opening few bars to myself and then my duet partner would come in.

I distinctly remember thinking, “Gosh, this feels hard.”

It struck me as odd to have that thought because it was not a difficult duet, and I knew my part well.  I had even performed it for the first time 20 years earlier.

When that thought entered my mind, I knew from my aikido training that I was doing something with my body that was interfering with my ability to play this duet I knew so well.

I did a quick scan of my body and felt my arms.  Could I let them hang from my shoulders more?  How about feeling heavy elbows?  I also consciously sat up taller and felt myself breathe.  As I was doing this I became aware of this incredible musician sitting next to me on the piano bench.  My duet partner!  In the mild anxiety I felt, I had completely forgotten that someone else was there with me to make music.  How lucky was I that I got to make music with him, and he had 20 more years of experience than I had.  What an opportunity!

I relaxed into the moment, felt the presence of my duet partner, and followed whatever and however he played.  His ability to phrase was so spectacular that I just supported everything he did and went along for the ride.  It was one of the most moving experiences I’ve ever had performing.  It was so life-giving that I couldn’t wait to do it again.

After the performance, many people approached me and were in awe over what they heard.  It had moved them as well.

Later I ran into a piano teacher I knew who did not like to perform.  He asked me, “Are you glad it’s over?”

To his surprise, I answered, “No.  I can’t wait to do it again.  It was amazing.”

Performing can be inspiring, life-giving, and moving for ourselves and our audience if we allow it to be.  Making peace with ourselves, allowing ourselves to be in the moment, feel in the moment, relax in the moment can be life-changing.

Sometimes this can be easier said than done.  Just doing something consciously with our body in the moment can begin the shift to a more pleasant, even invigorating, experience.  Sitting taller, feeling the weight of our own arms, or feeling the piano bench supporting us, all of these things can help bring us into the present moment, and that is where the magic can happen.

Early in my piano teaching career I had a studio full of mainly beginning piano students.  I made a decision to perform at the conclusion of our twice yearly studio recitals.  I did this for a few reasons:

1. I didn’t want to lose touch with what it took to learn and memorize a piece and perform it in front of a live audience.

2. I wanted to inspire my students and expose them to music and artistry beyond their current capabilities.

3. I enjoyed performing.

This one particular year I had been working on the Bach Sinfonia in D Major.  I remember a college classmate learning it, and I had always liked it, so I decided to learn it.  Memorizing it, however, was much more challenging than I expected.

I memorized and practiced performing it in front of sample audiences, and I noticed that my mind was worried about me forgetting how the next part would go no matter where I was in the music, even though I knew how the next part went.  I shared this with my aikido dojo.  Maybe they would have some ideas on how to handle it.

In my experience training in aikido, there is no place for racing thoughts unless you want to get physically hurt.  Fortunately, in piano performance there’s no physical injury, just mental and emotional anguish.  (I’m not sure that’s a consolation).

In addition, the mind is always a beat or two behind the present moment of whatever is happening.  The key is to be in the moment blending with it, not a beat behind it analyzing what just happened, or daydreaming about what might happen in the future, or judging what happened and wishing it was different.

I wanted to enjoy performing this piece, and I knew there had to be a creative way to help my mind relax.  My sensei offered a wonderful idea, one that I still use today:

Just say thank you to each thought as it comes.  Don’t beat yourself up over it, or try and force the thoughts to stop.  That will just add an extra layer that’s not about the present moment.  And the present moment is the only place where you can do something useful anyway.

When I performed the piece, I must have said “thank you” at least one hundred times.  It was not the most fun I’ve had playing, but saying “thank you” allowed me to let the thought pass and continue focusing on what I was doing.  And I ended up playing really well.

Today, I allow even more preparation time, and that seems to prevent many of the thoughts in the first place.  However, I still have the word “thank you” in my tool-box that I can pull out whenever I need it.

Try it sometime.  I’d love to hear what you discover.

Smiling.  When was your first smile as a human being?  My sister recently had a baby, and she noticed that at 6 weeks of age her baby started smiling, and he hasn’t stopped smiling.  It’s been six months.  I hope he will smile forever.  Yet, I wonder, will life eventually happen and his smiling decline?

At piano recitals, I’ve noticed in my students that already at ages 7 – 13 years the smiling has decreased, if not become non-existent.  Granted, performing and stage presence do not come naturally to everyone.

While I’ve focused on teaching my students how to bow, I’ve recently started focusing on encouraging them to smile.  It does wonders for the audience and for them.

I remember my classical ballet teacher from my youth, Miss Jan.  If you were lucky enough to be in The Nutcracker you spent many fall weekends rehearsing.  I recall one particular rehearsal of the finale of all 100 dancers, ages 8 years through adult.

As clear as a bell, I can hear Miss Jan saying, “No one is going home until everyone is smiling throughout the entire finale.”

I remember consciously smiling, not wanting to be the reason why we all had to stay.  It took us three times going through the entire finale before everyone was smiling.  We became so used to smiling that when the performance came, we all smiled in the finale.  It felt great to be a part of so much joy, from the dancers to the audience.  What a memorable experience!

In preparation for the last student recital I held, I had students practice not only bowing, but also smiling, with teeth showing, while people clapped for them.  The students that consistently smiled big smiles in practice, smiled really well at the recital.  The students who couldn’t bring themselves to show a big smile in practice, did not smile at the recital.  Yet, I am confident, that with more practice and experience smiling, they will be able to smile publicly.

Smiling is such a simple act that can boost your own mood and spread happiness to those around you.  In a concert situation, it creates a warm environment and puts the audience at ease.

Students work so hard to prepare for a recital.  Let’s encourage them to put the cherry on the sundae and teach them to smile while accepting applause.  Just maybe they will smile more and more as they grow up.