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Guest post by Alexandra Westcott

This article about learning the piano, the skills and the memories was lovely, and jogged my own memories of myself both as student and teacher.

I was about 6 when I used my sister’s books to learn the piano – they had photos for hand positions and finger numbers and that seemed all I needed (I’ve no idea to this day how I learned the rhythm and counting; I don’t remember reading about it but I must have!). I raced through the books and started fiddling with any music floating around, which was a fair amount as my Mum was a singer and also played the piano. I remember having the C major Mozart sonata at home and learning two pages during each holiday when home from boarding school at around 8 or 9. At this point Mum asked me if I wanted lessons, and because all my friends hated it (they hated the
practice); I said no because I loved playing, but she obviously ignored me and I ended up with a teacher I adored with whom I became very close.

I played the piano in all my spare time to the extent my reports used to say ‘she spends a lot of time at the piano’ and during prep, having done my homework as fast as possible, would skip off to the music rooms. I was fussy even then about the piano I played, and only the teachers’ or the grand in the assembly hall would do! None of the awful practice pianos for me!

During my time at school with this wonderful teacher, me and a group of friends would be taken away for a weekend each term to him and his wife at his amazing ancient cottage. He was the church organist and ran the church choir so we ate well on local Devon produce that he was given by local friends and members of the church. At times we also had breakfast in bed (often sugar on toast!), It was all very idyllic and I stayed in touch with him and his wife until they died.

For the 6th form I left there and went to a college local to my home, so I changed teacher and went to a local music school during my A levels. A completely different teacher and one the parents were scared of but the pupils loved. We did Sunday concerts at her house, always with cake, and a large concert once a year at the 6th form college at which she got her advanced students to do a movement of a concerto with her school orchestra. I did the first movement of the Schumann. I never wanted to be a concert pianist but this was good experience and I later had the chance to play on a few occasions with another orchestra, and for one of the concerts performed the whole of the Schumann. It brought back many memories.

I had another teacher for my degree, and then had a break in formal lessons before returning to a commitment to my own playing in my 20s. I had a local teacher for a year but then met Nelly Ben Or and knew I had to learn with her.

Nelly Ben Or

I studied with Nelly for many many years undoing my bad habits in order to acquire new and better ones and becoming a much better pianist, and a better teacher for that. I would often have lunch along with my lessons, and, again, house concerts and other performances enhanced the lessons. And, yes, you guessed it, always with accompanying food and drink.

As a teacher myself I became the sort of teacher I had grown up with; I had close bonds with my students, always had house concerts and local concerts both with tea parties afterwards, usually some chocolate for after lessons, and often would become close friends and either take them out for tea when young, or stay in touch later on.

Piano teachers, or any instrument teacher, hold a particular place in the life of a child. Such a close bond is formed and often many confidentialities shared. There needs to be trust for something that is hard to learn and something that needs self expression in execution. It is maybe not surprising that the bond becomes a firm friendship (and, often, one that needs physical as well as sustenance)!

I often wonder about my students’ memories of their time with me and whether they have similar memories as I do about my own mentors. I hope they hold the same  happy and cherished memories in their hearts for all the hours we spent and fun we had together as I do for my own teachers.

Alexandra Westcott is a piano teacher based in north London who specialises in understanding the piano in the light of the Alexander Technique, as studied with Nelly Ben Or, and encourages all areas of learning in a creative way. Find out more here

If you would like to share your piano memories, whether you are a teacher or pianist, or bothm, please get in touch

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Nine Piano Pieces for the Right Hand Alone for advanced pianists by Béla Hartmann

In piano literature, works for the left hand alone have a more familiar history – often born of necessity after injury. Paul Wittgenstein, for example, famously commissioned left-hand concertos from Ravel and Hindemith. Perhaps the most famous music for left hand alone, apart from Ravel’s concerto, is Scriabin’s Prelude and Nocturne for the Left Hand, Op. 9

In his new book, pianist and pedagogue Béla Hartmann places the focus on the right hand, explaining that it “has had very little time spent on it, probably because it enjoys the bulk of our attention in normal piano music. It is certainly true that amongst pianists it is the right hand that must often take a sabbatical or retire completely due to overuse, misuse or pure bad luck, thereby leaving the left hand to keep the show going on by itself. However, the left hand suffers its fair share of injuries and it would seem a shame to neglect those occasions where the right hand may need or deserve to take a solo role.”

Hartmann himself suffered an injury to his left hand, which prompted him to explore create new music for those in need of some right handed challenges.

‘All Right’, a collection of nine piano pieces for the right hand alone, serves both a practical and artistic purpose: it fills a gap in the repertoire and challenges pianists to think differently about technical and expressive possibilities. This suite of nine miniatures is arranged in approximate order of difficulty – Consolation; Chase; Valse Fugitive; Menuet; March; Elegy; Song of the Thief; Etude; Prelude – and each piece has a distinct character, with widely varying styles. For example there’s a classical minuet and trio, a romantic virtuoso showpiece, elegiac moments, and more playful or introspective pieces.

Each piece cleverly balances technical demands with virtuosity and expression, making this music both instructive and enjoyable to play. Often, the right hand is both soloist and accompanist, and the fact that one hand is playing isn’t always obvious – or always foregrounded. Some pieces are energetic (Prelude, Chase), requiring nimble fingers and agility. Others test other techniques such as pedalling (Consolation) where notes in the lower register must be sustained below a chordal motif in the treble (itself a test in legato chord playing). Valse Fugitive, meanwhile, has contrasting articulation in the treble and bass, while other pieces require spread notes/arpeggiation and large leaps.

These pieces are far more than technical exercises. In fact, in their structure and style, they owe something to Chopin’s Études in that they offer the pianist attractive, imaginative and well-crafted music which also tests various pianistic skills. They offer real musical content for both student and teacher, which is rich, varied and emotionally engaging, and could also serve in therapeutic or adaptive contexts, for example, when a pianist’s left hand is injured or needs rest.

‘All Right’ is available from Good Music Publishing where you can view sample pages, listen to audio examples and order the music.

Béla Hartmann

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Schubert: Impromptus Opp.90 and 142 – Eric Lu, piano (Warner Classics)

The two sets of Impromptus are my favourite piano pieces by Franz Schubert, music which I’ve explored as both player and listener since my teens. As a consequence, I’m very fussy about performances and interpretations of this music

In his second recording of Schubert’s piano music, Eric Lu, winner of both the Leeds and Chopin competitions, presents both sets of Impromptus. In interviews, Lu has expressed his affinity with and affection for Schubert’s music, stating that, “It is difficult to describe how meaningful his music is to me….he is the composer who moves me most intensely.“

A shame then, that Lu doesn’t seem to translate these statements when he actually plays the music. Ponderous tempos, lingering rubato and over-emphasised agogic accents, all presumblay intended to suggest “emotional depth” abound, particularly in the D898/1, D935/1 and D935/2. Here, I feel Lu mistakes slowness for profound emotion. This is most evident in the very first impromptu. That bare G that opens the piece is sustained far too long, to the point where one wonders if the pianist has perhaps forgotten what comes next. The opening theme is sluggish (the overall tempo is too slow here) and detracts from the drama and contrasting moods (portrayed in Schubert’s characteristic volte-faces between minor and major keys). I felt this performance was contrived, somewhat egocentric – and find myself repeating some of what I said about Lu’s previous Schubert release. Oh dear! (https://crosseyedpianist.com/2022/12/30/leeds-winners-release-albums/)

He’s better in the more lively impromptus. The D899/2 ripples along in its outer sections, with a clear dance pulse in the bass which adds to the sense of forward propulsion. The final impromptu, a fiery Hungarian dance, has rhythmic bite which contrasts with sparkling scalic passages.

Lu is often described as “a poet of the piano” (a moniker attributed to many a young competition winner these days!) and there’s no doubting his ability to make a beautiful sound, perhaps most evident on this recording in the G-flat major impromptu where Lu achieves a singing melodic line, sensitively phrased, over a subtly shifting bass of almost continuous movement.

The thing about this music is that Schubert gives plenty of directions and a rather more “literal” interpretation, free of wandering rubato and unnecessary accents, actually feels more in keeping with the composer’s emotional landscape.
And for that I would recommend recordings by more mature, experienced Schubert players such as Maria Joao Pires, Mitsuko Uchida or Murray Perahia.

But Lu is not yet 30 and there’s plenty of time for him to absorb all the subtleties and details of Schubert’s writing. So maybe I’ll find more to love in his next release, when it comes….

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The impulse to complete an unfinished work by a composer such as Schubert arises from a blend of artistic curiosity, historical empathy and creative challenge. For many musicians and scholars, an incomplete score feels like a fragment of a larger, untold story – and one that invites further exploration. Incomplete music, such as Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony or the Sonata in F-sharp minor, D571, give tantalising glimpses of musical ideas that may reach to something beyond their surviving pages. To engage with them is to enter a conversation with Schubert’s imagination: reconstructing, interpreting and attempting to extend his thoughts with respect and insight.

Scholars and musicians often study sketches, harmonic trajectories and stylistic patterns to infer how the composer might have continued. For some, this process is an act of homage – an attempt to illuminate what time or circumstance denied completion. For others, it’s an opportunity to test one’s own understanding of the composer’s musical voice and logic, a kind of creative empathy that bridges scholarship and performance.

In the first instalment of his complete recording of Schubert’s piano sonatas, German pianist Martin Helmchen offers his completion of the fragmentary Sonata in F-sharp minor, D571.

Only the first movement of this work exists, and that was abandoned by the composer before it was completed. This is not the first time someone has attempted to complete this unfinished work: pianists including Paul Badura-Skoda, Malcolm Bilson, and Martino Tirimo have sought to realise Schubert’s assumed intentions, drawing hypothetical completions of the music from such separately published pieces as the piece (usually assumed to be an Andante) in A major, D604, and the Allegro vivace in D major and Allegro in F-sharp minor, D570. The question that this sonata poses – and indeed the other fragmentary sonatas by Schubert – is did Schubert stop composing simply because he ran out of time or inclination, or did not have enough money to buy music manuscript paper? But incomplete doesn’t mean insignificant, and Helmchen, clearly appreciating the significance of the fragment of D571 (it is, after all, a very beautiful piece of music), has completed these movements with great care and understanding, inspired by the recordings and the analyses of Paul Badura-Skoda.

On this recording, we now have a complete Sonata D571, scored in four movements, its wistful, almost surreal opening movement – completed by Helmchen – giving way to an elegant, lyrical Andante, a suitably playful Scherzo, and a dramatic rondo finale, also completed by Helmchen, which feels “wholly Schubert” with its shifting harmonies, contrasting textures and moods, and a radiant middle section which briefly recalls the opening movement in its poignancy. The overall result of this completion is convincing rather than speculative, – ‘proper’ music by a musician –  due in no small part to Helmchen’s affinity with the music of Schubert in general (listen to the rest of the disc for a full appreciation of Helmchen’s sensitive Schubert playing). He plays with great maturity, alert to Schubert’s shifting soundworld and innate intimacy, even in the more extrovert movements or passages, and his natural pacing, supple phrasing and clear tone never get in the way of the music. This release, recorded on a modern Bösendorfer 280, with an alluring singing tone, is the first in a series of recordings by Martin Helmchen to mark the 200th anniversary of Schubert’s death in 2028.

Martin Helmchen’s Schubert Sonatas Volume 1 is released on the Alpha Classics label on CD and streaming

Header image: Facsimile of the autograph manuscript of Schubert’s Sonata in G major D894 (British Library)