One night, when I was browsing through IMSLP.org's violin archives, I came across the piano accompaniments for the Kreutzer Studies.   I thought, "Wow, this would be really fun to play through the studies and hear them in a different context than ever before.  I bet this would be useful for my students as well.  They'll match intonation, work to be able to play the whole piece through at an even tempo, maybe play the etudes like real music..."

Then it hit me that it would be a monumental task to convince any pianist to practice and rehearse them all.  So, I decided to input all of the piano parts into my music production software (Cubase and a professional Steinway D Synthesizer).  I couldn't be happier with the result.  

Click here to sample my complete Kreutzer Piano Pack.  All of the studies (aside from Cadenza etude, #23) have piano accompaniment files available for download at various tempi.    

Enjoy!

-Matt

What's a Drone?

A drone is a continuous sustained tone. The Bagpipe, Musette, and Hurdy-Gurdy naturally produce a drone.

Drone notes are extremely useful for checking intonation, because you must compare your pitch to the drone note, and then adjust.  When students are playing out of tune, I've noticed that they usually aren't sensitized enough to self-correct. 

I've found that playing with a drone is the most direct, effective way of improving intonation in scale practice.  Before the student attempts a scale, we find perfect intervals and play them with a drone.   

1) Find Perfect Unisons and Octaves, then Perfect Fourths and Fifths.
2) Find Major or minor 3rds and 6ths.
3) Listen to the dissonant clash of 2nds, 7ths and Tritones.
4) Play a whole scale.

I'll take turns with my students.  
They'll play a drone.   I'll play intervals/scales.  
I'll play a drone. They'll play scales intervals.
????????? 
Profit.  They've become more sensitized to great intonation.

Other methods of checking intonation:
Practicing with a electronic tuner is somewhat useless on the violin, as it doesn't require any amount of careful listening.
Checking against open strings is sometimes helpful, but not in key signatures with many sharps or flats.


A Roadblock:
One problem with most drone-tone generators is that they are extremely annoying to listen to. 
This is the primary reason students don't like practicing with drones.
Here's the drone my metronome produces. An A 220hz and A 440hz:  

(If you can't click these links, check to make sure Popup/Ad Blockers are turned off)

It is rather tinny and bright sounding, right? I'm also hearing an odd, almost detuned "wawawawa" sound on the metronome drone.  When practicing against a drone, I'd rather hear more bass, while still keeping some reinforcement of the upper octaves.  Here's a less annoying drone.  It's still clear and even, lot's of depth, but without the ear-punishing edge.

After adjusting the volume, it's clear that this drone is more appealing.  This drone is easier on the ears because the bass is the strongest component.  It sounds best on a decent stereo speakers.  My test system is a pair of Yamaha monitor speakers. 

What's in the new drone?
Layered on top of A 110hz, is A 220hz, A 440hz, A 880hz, and A 1660hz.  The number is the cycles per second.  Because the drone pitch consists of layered octaves, students should be more able to check intonation throughout 3-octave scales and arpeggios.   Below, I've included a download link for all 12 tones (about 12 MB).  Each MP3 clip is about one minute long.  You can set to repeat in Windows Media Player, or other music software, for longer sessions.

Why not just record a violin sound?  It's not as precise. Other features like volume, timbre, and bow changes will tend to distort the pitch slightly.

Happy Drone Practicing!

How:
I'll separate the instructions into 3 sections, to allow for some design freedom.
A basic platform, upgrades (wheels and trim), and flooring.

The Basic Platform (<$100)
Materials:
(1) 48'' x 48'' plywood.  Make sure it is exact 48''x48'' or the following will not work. 

For a cello stand, I think you'd be better off with 3'x5' proportions, but you'll have to figure out the other measurements.
Consider heavy 3/4in with a finished surface if you don't want to add hardwood flooring on top.
I could not fit this plywood into my Celica, so I had to have it cut in half.

Several high quality 2x4s  (they actually measure 1.5x3.5'').  Make sure they are not warped.  The cheaper ones seem to be more imperfect. Have them cut (much cleaner cuts if Home Depot does it) so that you end
up with (2) 46in lengths and (5) 43in lengths.

You will need at least (16) phillips head, multipurpose, 2.5 or 3in wood screws (or 16 3in common nails)
An electric drill would make life easier to predrill 2 holes where each of your boards will attach (16 total).
I used this drill, which was great when fully charged.
A phillips head bit is handy for driving in those screws (unless you decide on nails). 

Instructions:
On your plywood lay out the two 46'' lengths narrow side down on upper and lower edges of plywood.
Space the 2 43'' lengths horizontally between them.
Fit the other  43'' lengths vertically between the 48in top and bottom.
Everything should meet giving you a about a 47x47'' frame.  There's a 1 inch over hang on all sides.

Secure plywood to frame with 1.5 or 2 in screws.  If you screw into the horizontal cross lengths it will be really firm.

Upgrades: Trim and paint (<$30), Wheels (<$30)

I wanted the sides to look nice, so I bought two long lengths of fluted casing from home depot, cut them down, and nailed them with finishing nails to only 3 sides, leaving the back plain.  I painted it with a 1/2 pint of flat white latex paint.  The fluting is just over 3''.  I didn't want a 4'' fluting to snag the carpet.

Already, without the flooring, this stage weighs a good 50-70 lbs.  The flooring weighs another 50lbs.
So, it needs wheels to be transportable.  You want rigid, not caster wheel, about 3-5 inches.  Something like this.  I secured the wheel with 5/16" nuts and bolts, but it depends on your wheel size.

Why a stage?
I spent one summer at the ENCORE School for Strings in high school.  Primarily, I studied with Linda Cerone there, who was fantastic at organizing practice schedules and motivating me to approach practicing in an organized way.  I had one lesson with David Cerone, a formidable teacher at the Cleveland Institute of Music.    It was simply understood that at a lesson with Mr. Cerone, boys were required to wear nice shoes, slacks, and a button-down shirt.  Girls were supposed to wear dresses or equivalent.  Mr. Cerone also placed his LED clock behind his students, so that he could see the time (to plan a 5-minute smoke break). This way, his students would not be tempted to check the time.

As a student, I was really impressed that someone had put that much thought into the environment of a lesson scenario.  The clock placement was clever and the dress code made the lesson seem more like a performance.  In college, my teacher, Charles Castleman, had his own signature touch: a rocking chair.
Maybe it was just for the sake of comfort.  It was extremely comfortable (one of perks of obtaining the studio key!).  However, playing a lesson for a teacher in a rocking chair actually chills out the entire tone of the lesson.  There's much less perceived pressure.

I've always thought it would be a fun project to build a stage.  There are also some subtle changes that occur when teaching a student on a stage:  

1) The stage is a performance space.  But no one needs to go to the trouble of dressing up.
I used to feel awkward attempting to play my heart out in the casual space of a teacher's apartment. 

2) The stage raises students about 6 inches. Without a doubt, they are the center of attention.

3) The stage shows that you're trying to do something special as a teacher.  It's a little weird, a little playful.  It sets apart the lesson space from all other spaces.

4) The actual sound is slightly improved, as compared to the carpet.

5) It's easier to pretend that you are on a real stage, in front of people.  Helps confidence.

In addition to the stage, I've tried to improve on David Cerone's clock.  It's a binary clock from thinkgeek (count the number of lights in each group).  So, not only is it behind the student, but they will have trouble deciphering it anyway.

Happy Building!

Having a regular blog has so far encouraged me to think through and better organize my thoughts around specific topics, as well as follow through on pipe-dream projects.  This is probably as close to a teaching mission statement as I will get.

Occasionally,  I'll have a new parent (never a student) that asks, "What method are you using?"

That's a valid question, and it can have several meanings.  Sometimes there's a genuine curiosity.  Other times, it means "Do you know what you are doing? Explain it!" It can also mean, "Hey, I'm confused about the structure, here... is there a structure?" 

Branded methodology (think Suzuki, Sassmannshaus, O'Connor, Auer, Maia Bang) is maybe a meager 5% of the equation, if even that much.  Sometimes it's a help, other times a hindrance.  I suppose my long answer to that question is that I teach from the Contemporary American-Franco-Belgian School of Violin Playing,  but also draw from all other known sources when necessary.  There's got to be a better name for that, right?

Look at the bow holds in a modern day symphony orchestra: Mostly Franco-Belgian.  I don't see a lot of Russian or Spivakovsky bow holds out there.  The left hand technique? A result of habits and strategies passed down through from teacher to student in Kreutzer/Rode Etudes and Paganini.  Stylistic concerns and priorities?  Decidedly influenced by the U.S Symphony and Collegiate audition processes and influenced by the top teachers from the last century (Galamian, Gingold, Dounis, Schradieck, etc.).  That's where most professionals are at these days, even if it isn't specifically named. It's also evolving, expanding as performance practice increases in popularity, and the extended techniques required in modern and pop music expand.

Recently, I've had a handful of students come to me who had been learning almost exclusively from Leopold Auer's graded course and Flesch Scales for several years (and still haven't gotten out of C major!), but with virtually zero experience playing real, complete pieces of music.  What a punishing experience!  In the past, I've also encountered veteran Suzuki students who had played lots of baroque pieces, but couldn't read music and had no confidence preparing music without a recording.  Yes, of course there are fantastic Suzuki teachers (and students) out there, but not everyone is Mimi Zweig!  There's nothing innately special about attaching your identity as a teacher to a popular method.  It's obviously impossible for any formula of instruction to apply perfectly to a specific student in a remotely appropriate way.  Otherwise, students would be learning entirely from books and videos, not real, human teachers.

I've read nearly all of the available pedagogical texts, studied with great performer-teachers, play professionally, and have several years of experience teaching a variety of ages.  But more importantly than any one of those, I try to get to know each student as an individual and figure out where they are.  What are their goals?  What is their current skill set and knowledge base?  Are they sensitive listeners? Do they like classical music? How do they learn? What motivates them?  Are there fundamental problems impeding their progress?  What are the parents like? I try to think about how I'm going to leave each student when they inevitably graduate.  How do I want that student to grow? Each of those is an intense blog post, right?

Here's my mission:
Set the bar high and provide a safe, collaborative, creative environment for growth.
A successful graduating student should be nearly able to express and activate their potential:

A teacher's job is to make themselves obsolete.  A graduating student should be self-initiated, confident, able to learn pieces from different styles, exercise freedom of interpretation, able to practice well, listen well, and solve problems.  They've been introduced to nearly all of the problems of violin playing, and have at least begun to solve them.  They also know that bow strokes have names, well beyond off-ish and on-ish.

Part of the process of arriving at that goal is to find pieces and exercises that will effectively force a student to come face-to-face with the difficulties of violin playing.  Not just purely technical difficulties, but a well-rounded understanding of the instrument's interpretive capabilities and challenges. On a basic level, this means there must be a foundation of scale practice, specific exercises for traditional technique, Paganini technique, and also standard rep pieces that serve particular developmental functions. On a more creative level, it means that the student will eventually have some freedom and desire to seek out pieces of study.  Maybe they'll construct a personalized senior recital.  Maybe they'll collaborate with friends and find a social venue for violin study.  That's how I see a serious, realistic approach to violin study.
Below is a basic, but not all-inclusive outline of what I want my students to eventually study.

After coaching the final All-State Prep Summer Masterclass for San Antonio's high schoolers, I thought it would be appropriate to write a post about etudes.  Students trying out for TMEA all-state are tasked with learning Rode #6 and Fiorillo #13 (collegiate-level studies), as well as four difficult orchestral excerpts, the likes of which they will practice every day for four months or longer, in hopes of achieving acceptance into the All-State Orchestra.

Welcome to my etude collection.
Are there too many etudes? You'd think that after 10-20lbs of these, violin mastery would be well within reach. Regarding the etudes studied in my formative years:  I can't even remember what most of them sounded like or why they were assigned.  I do remember faking through most of Kreutzer, wondering what all those bowings were for and why Galamian's name was on the cover.  I remember being berated for not practicing them enough from ages 8-15.   But mostly, it's a blur.  

Now, I love studying and teaching Kreutzer's Etudes.  I understand how useful, structured, and well composed they are.  When the time comes, I really try to hype them up:

"Congratulations!  It's time to become a scholar of Kreutzer's 42 Etudes!  Heifetz called these special studies the 'Professional's Guide to Violin Playing.'  These studies are short pieces that serve as a workshop for tackling some of the most challenging problems of violin playing.   Nearly every great violinist has studied Kreutzer at some point - see Itzhak Perlman, Joshua Bell, Anne Akiko Meyers, Hilary Hahn? They studied Kreutzer #2!  And so can you.  With Kreutzer, we can perfect the Art of Practicing, build a dazzling left hand technique, and begin to build an expressive mastery of the bow!"

But sometimes, just as I start to think I've made a successful pitch, these thoughts flash through the student's mind:

"Oh, so I'm playing number #2 first.  That sounds exciting...  What happened to #1? Do you know what you're doing?  Wait, is that the same dude that wrote Praeludium and Allegro?  No. Oh... looks like a lot of boring 16th notes. Yawn."

The problem:

It's difficult to get students actively engaged in etude practice.  Students get used to learning a series of notes for next week's lesson, or for seating tests. They start to think that mindlessly walking through tasks and following instructions is what violin playing is all about.  The endless stream of numbered etudes and exercises starts to seem both esoteric and insurmountable.  "LA, LA, LA.  Tell me what to do. This looks like busy-work."  Students might even grow to like the simplicity of that structure of domination.   After all, they've already become accustomed to standardized testing and one-size-fits-all letter grades at school.  Why should music lessons be any different?  I know that for many of my lessons as a teenager,  I just wanted to follow directions.  It was easy and safe. There was no need to ask questions or think for myself.  I grew to like being a cog.  It wasn't until I started my collegiate studies at Eastman that I was miraculously able to grow out of that tragic mindset of mindlessness.

I think it's quite possible that a cabal of disgruntled, jaded violinists got together in the 1800's and decided that etude practice should be a supremely punishing experience that cements a traumatic, unhealthy bond between teachers, students, and parents, similar to Stockholm Syndrome.  Some etudes seem entirely divorced from expressive, thoughtful music making.  Generally, there's no accompaniment part. There's very little guidance in terms of written instruction or diagrams.  The question of why is never thoroughly and simply answered in writing.  Also, the naming of etudes is reprehensible. Almost without exception, etudes are numbered, not named.  If we were talking about chapters in a book, that would be different, but most etudes are stand-alone entities.  
  
Inmates get numbers.  Cats get names.  And most people prefer branded Cheerios to generic toasted "0s."  Imagine if Shakespeare had preferred the ease of numbers over painstakingly choosing the right words.

Numbers are alienating and not memorable.  Number naming systems are good for reference material, but annihilate any emotional significance. The numbers themselves are near impossible to remember in etude practice if a student is expected to play 42 Kreutzer Etudes, 20 Schradieck Etudes, 36 Fiorillo Etudes, 24 Rode Caprices, 24 Gavinies Caprices, 24 Paganini Caprices. 

A few of the most famous, well-loved etudes do have names, or have acquired names over time. Paganini's Caprice #13, has acquired the title "Devil's Laughter," due to the chromatic descending 3rds at it's opening.  The theme of Ernst's "The Last Rose of Summer" is based on a song of the same name. Widely considered one of the most difficult virtuosic pieces, the other Ernst studies (given only numbers) are sometimes more challenging and interesting.   

Changing the dominator perspective, immediately: 

Private violin instruction is almost always one-on-one, or one-on-one with a parental observer.  There are few teaching relationships that are this close.  It's a privilege for both teacher and student.  It's more possible in this dyad to activate a student's imagination and critical thinking skills than it is in any large classroom setting. There's nowhere to hide. Every week, progress and lack of progress is on display.

One place to begin, is to convert the poor naming of etudes into an exercise in imaginative and critical thought.  For instance, Teacher and Scholar can work collaboratively to come up with names for the Kreutzer etudes.  

Preliminary: What do you think the challenges of this etude are?  What looks difficult to you?  Okay, some unfamiliar shifting and string crossings.  Also, look at this part over here.  Let's talk about the purpose of this study.

Okay,  now some easy questions about the music.  No wrong answers are possible here.

1) Does is sound happy or sad? Neither? Really? It sounds nostalgic? Okay... 

2) Is it a song or a dance? A song? what kind of song? A love song, a lullaby, a power ballad?
        A Dance? With one person, or more?  Around a fire? In poofy dresses?

3) If it were accompaniment to a cartoon, to a movie, or to a novel, what would be happening?
Is it a sword fight, a ghost rising from a lake? No?  It's thousands clones being unloaded from ships in the Star Wars universe.  Okay. Let's go with that.

This may seem time consuming, but at least the young scholar is being led to ultimately commit to a basic interpretation.   In his masterclass DVD, Maxim Vengerov views Kreisler's Tambourin Chinois through the lens of a wild bicycle ride through a busy street.  It may seem odd to overlay an additional narrative onto a piece of music, but at least it's a way to address the spirit of the work as a whole, rather than relate isolated information about this harmony or that.  Scholars will at least begin to unravel it's emotional content and rhetoric.  They'll start to find a sense of purpose, discovery, an enjoyment in etude study.  The relationship between technique and conception will start to develop.  The etude will begin to take form as an expressive and meaningful tool. They'll begin to play the etude, not suffer through it.  

Here's a set of new titles (below) for Kreutzer's famous 42 Studies, as an example.

"ETUDES:  A SOUL-CRUSHING WASTE OF LIFE, OR A JOURNEY INTO IMAGINATIONLAND?"  Is a multi-part series.  Stay tuned for further developments.

This post influenced significantly by:
Teaching Critical Thinking, Bell Hooks
How to Study Kreutzer, Benjamin Cutter: 
TedTalk: A Manifesto for Play, for Bulgaria and Beyond
TedTalk: Feats of Memory Anyone Can Do
TedTalk: Math Class Without Hand Calculation

First post:  I hate trying to explain to my beginning and remedial students what the difference between "high 2" and "low 2" is.   Outside of elementary level violin playing in first position, the terms are worthless!  Yet, the language of "high 2, low 2" seems to be ubiquitous in teaching circles.

To teachers and students, let me pose this question: When I mention “High 2” or “Low 2,” do those terms have any real or useful meaning?   The fact that all intermediate and advanced players abandon those terms altogether should be a sign that "High 2, Low 2,"  is not much more than an awkward crutch.  

As a student, the language of “high” and “low” is confusing. Why not say "close" and "far," or describe the shape of the finger itself (arched or extended)?  It's also not memorable in any sense. As teachers, do you not feel that using those terms is an oversimplification?   Does it really come anywhere close to describing what should be happening in the left hand? Do you really enjoy teaching with those terms? Personally, I would rather have my fingernails forcibly extracted than teach something I'm not 100% committed to.

Individual finger placement is the great challenge of beginning students and the frustration of many teachers. After much struggle, many students eventually succeed in approximating correct pitches, and then realize that they have attained little to no real organization or ease in the left hand. The fingers pop up and down at random.  Excess tension is everywhere. What little fingerboard knowledge they have is a jumbled mess. It's usually a murky, case-by-case knowledge, not a fully formed, systematic knowledge.  

Wouldn't it be great if there was a simple language to address both finger placement, efficiency, and balance of the entire hand?

Blocking the hand in groups of notes is not a new development.   All professional players tend to group notes according to hand shapes. We've developed our hands in countless etudes and scales, often arriving at effective technique by accident, through great struggle, or simply at a very slow pace.

The real development I'm proposing is that hand shapes, blocking, can be taught from the very beginning of a student's development in an easy, intuitive way. The language used in teaching is often what makes or breaks effective teaching. If the 6 unique hand shapes do not have names, they will remain ambiguous or malformed. The language is the important part.

The history of Kung-fu in China goes back nearly 4000 years. In that sense, violin playing and teaching is still in its infancy. Kung-fu means “Intense work,” and doesn't have to refer to the martial arts at all. A person can have good Kung-fu in Cooking, Writing, or in Violin Playing.  Hopefully, my use of the term is not an abuse of the term!  

Rather than set up a structure based on the profound and deep work of traditional Kung Fu,  I'm drawn much more to the extremely imaginative, quirky and fanciful display of kung fu in epic film series.
Kung-fu (and other martial arts) films are fantastic.  One of my favorite series is called “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber.” I'm always struck by the spot-on naming of special fighting techniques. The Green Winged Bat King uses “Icy Palm” technique, freezing his enemies and sapping their strength. The Golden Haired Lion King uses “Lion's Roar” technique, deafening and confounding his enemies with a loud roar.   What makes those moves memorable and impressive, is that their names adequately describe what the techniques actually look like.

Why on earth would you want to teach a student High 2 or Low 2, when you can teach them
Fox Hand, Rabbit Hand, Teacup Hand, Crab Claw, Bear Claw, and Closed Claw techniques?
The only real confusion beginning students have about the left hand is: Which fingers are close together, and which fingers are spread apart?  What is my hand doing?

When a student plays something out of tune, or reads incorrectly, why not ask:  "Yo!  What hand shape are you using there? Are you sure? Really?!"  The student's brain will activate.  The Kung Fu hand shapes can be applied to any method or teaching style.  It's simply a more accurate, intuitive description of what the left hand should be doing.  My students are continually surprised that 99% of their playing is in Fox, Rabbit, Teacup, or Bear Claw positions.  

I got a little carried away in this first post, but I felt it necessary to demonstrate how an advanced knowledge of the fingerboard can be developed through use of this naming system.

Click here for an introduction to the Hand Shapes.