Much of performance anxiety is based on memory insecurity. Performing a composition from memory can result in a more exciting and convincing musical performance--but only if memory is an ally, not a source of anxiety. How do pianists memorize? What is memory, anyway? Can memory be taught? The answers to these questions can inform pianists' work in this area and, in turn, make them better practitioners and teachers of this all-important skill.
How does a pianist memorize? There are as many answers to this question as there are pianists. Josef Lhevinne talks about memory in "Basic Principles in Pianoforte Playing."
"Do not place too much stress upon those who memorize readily. Some people seem to be gifted with a kind of mental glibness. They make their mental photographs with a kind of cinematographic rapidity; and the impress is likely to disappear quite as rapidly. If you find that you memorize slowly, do not let it bother you. I have found that the students who depend too much upon their natural gifts in memorizing make many mistakes. Their memories are neither reliable or accurate. When they need the memory most it fails them....The more effort you put in your memorizing the firmer will be the impression upon your brain negative....Memorize phrase by phrase, not measure by measure....The thing to remember is the thought, not the symbols....One should also have a firm grasp of the elements of harmony to memorize well. Chords are musical words....The sequence of chords in harmony is an immense help to the memory....Daily drill in memorizing, if only just a little, is better than studying memorizing now and then. It is the regular practice that counts. "
Elyse Mach's book "Great Pianists Speak for Themselves" contains a wealth of valuable insights from a number of important pianists. This is what Alfred Brendel says about memory; contrast these ideas with Lhevinne's. " For some reason, I've never had a serious memory problem. Usually, after I've played a work a few times, it sticks in my mind. When I have memory lapses during a performance, they tend to occur in recital rather than with orchestra. Somehow I manage to work my way out of them as most artists do. Edwin Fischer, Alfred Cortot, and Artur Schnabel all confessed to memory failure at times, but they survived. " Using an approach similar to Brendel's, John Browning says that he simply plays a piece over and over until he knows it by heart. Other thoughts on the subject are revealed in Mach's interview with Alicia de Larrocha who says she plays a piece very slowly to solidify the memorization. She believes that only at a slow tempo are you able to see clearly the phrases, chords, cadences, form, design, and harmonic groupings. She adds, "I don't believe much in vision memory. It seems unsure and leaves me feeling rather insecure." (Her reference here is to so-called "photographic" memory of the score.) In another Mach chapter, Misha Dichter discusses what he calls his "system" of memorization. He breaks down the form of the piece into its larger structural sections, then memorizes intervallic relationships and harmonic blocks common throughout the piece. "I memorize harmonic structures which are related to intervallic structure so that, when I come to fixed points of harmony, I am not memorizing senseless details but rather blocks of harmonic sound along with all the secondary units surrounding that vital point."
An earlier pedagogue, Tobias Matthay, wrote a pamphlet entitled On Memorizing and Playing from Memory. On page 3 he quotes Robert Louis Stevenson:
Matthay tells the pianist to " 'mark' the things you wish to remember--analyse them, note them!"
This small sampling of thoughts on the subject of memory indicates that, among pianists, there seem to be two basic approaches to the problem. There are those who think about memory, and those who do not (need not?). Only a very few legendary pianists such as Horowitz and Rubinstein have the ability to memorize effortlessly and forever, like Browning and Brendel. Pianists who actively think about memory far outnumber those who don't, and only in thinking about it can we arrive at an answer to the next question, "What is memory, anyway?"
The Greeks invented the art of memory (mnemosyne) and taught it as one of the five parts of rhetoric. It was an essential skill that enabled orators to deliver long speeches before the advent of the printing press and teleprompter. Their system involved the use of a series of places and images that organized and stimulated the speaker's memory. Orators were taught to visualize a building with a fixed series of rooms. Into each room the speaker placed imaginary objects that would stimulate the progression of thoughts according to a prearranged plan. For example, the speaker preparing a speech on Greek Gods would imagine a lyre in one room, and that image would evoke the subject Apollo. The next room might contain an image of fire (Hades), the sea (Poseidon), or two lovers (Venus). As the speaker made his imaginary journey through these rooms, the memory of each subject area would be stimulated by the visual image of the related object. The same set of rooms was used for all speeches; only the objects inside the rooms were changed to reflect the different subject matters.
The Greek system sets forth two important basic tenets of memory: 1) one key image can represent a whole series of ideas, and 2) effective memorizing is willful and systematic. Let us return to Matthay's writing. " The action of the memory is automatic, [but] the act of committing to memory is more or less consciously a wilful one....Memorizing, from its physical aspect, is obviously a change of state in the grey matter of the brain. It may be pictured as the forming of physical fibrous connexions or channels between one brain corpuscle and another--so that when one corpuscle is excited this excitation is transmitted to any other corpuscles that may have been thus connected-up by such physical fibrous channels. The process of memorizing may thus be said to consist, physically, in the making and strengthening of such physical connexions or channels, or ways in the mind."
Scientists have learned a lot about brain physiology since Matthay wrote his pamphlet in 1926, but this rather strangely worded paragraph holds an important key to memory work. When we learn a piece of music, paths are created in the brain that connect one action to the next. An awareness of this process can facilitate the memorizing process in so much as it enables the learner to identify the precise nature of the work to be done. When we begin Chopin's b minor Prelude (discussed in detail below), the nature of the beginning notes must be somehow connected to knowledge securely embedded in the grey matter of the brain. If we know the piece is in b minor and begins with a tonic arpeggio in root position, then we are able to proceed with further connections made during the learning process. If, during the learning process, the student fails to notice the c# in the key signature and plays the sixth note in the left hand as a c natural, the mistake is not the c natural itself, but rather in the faulty connection between the d (fifth note) and the subsequent, incorrect note. Practicing the left hand as follows--b, d, f#, b, d, c natural (wrong note), c# (correction), d, b--creates a brain path that produces d, c natural, c#, an unwanted result. Instead of correcting the offending note, it is the erroneous connection that needs to be corrected. This requires backing up at least to the d, then creating a new path that proceeds to the c#, then correctly back to the d.
This idea of connecting paths is analogous to the method taught by the Greeks who, upon seeing that special object within their imaginary room, would be prompted to recall a series of connected thoughts. What in Matthay's connection theory is analogous to the Greek's larger series of prompts--the rooms within the building? Matthay recounts the following anecdote in his pamphlet.
"At one of our private concert meetings one of the performers broke down after playing about 16 bars. She then started again and broke down after playing only 8 bars. Again she tried, and again stopped herself, after 4 bars now. Finally, after being urged to play again, she was only able to play the first four notes! I then pulled her together by speaking to her from the audience, saying, "Do not try to remember, but just think the music, and let the music take you along." She then started once more and quite successfully played the same little Purcell piece to the end, without hesitation. She had been preventing the natural memory-action of her mind, and stopping it by asking herself, 'What is the next note?'"
Unfortunately, this scene has been played out on too many recital stages, usually with far less happy results than Matthay remembers. The connection theory alone is not sufficient to offer a performer the memory security necessary for an effective performance. Matthay assumes that if every finger goes precisely where it should, if every note comes out just as it was practiced, then every one will live happily ever after and no little piano student will ever leave the recital stage in tears. This is the kind of fairy tale of which nightmares are made. How many times does a recital performance duplicate precisely a practice event. The answer is, thankfully, rarely. On a concert stage, a prepared performer can transcend the practice performance, and the result can be wondrous. A prepared performer has answers for the inevitable questions that come up during an actual performance. Claude Frank once confided to this writer that during one performance with orchestra his conscious brain was actively trying to recall the name of the conductor! This kind of distraction, misplaced finger, out-of-tune note, can instigate a memory train wreck if only connection memory is being employed. The performer must have an answer to the question, "What is the next note?" if that question arises during a performance. And it is only by creating a larger series of memory stimuli that these answers will be available when needed.
The scientific basis for a larger set of memory prompts can be found in work on left and right brain functions, an area of physiology not investigated until the 1950's. It was then that scientists began to discover the effects of severing the corpus callosum (the connective tissue between the left and right hemispheres of the brain) on the human psyche. This research led to increased awareness of each brain hemisphere's function. The left governs the conscious mind, logic, reason, mathematics, reading, writing, language, and analysis, whereas the right controls the unconscious mind, rhythm, imagery, creativity, dreams, and emotions. A re-examination of the larger memory "systems," such as Dichter's, reveals a common thread--a forceful and conscious dialogue between the two brain hemispheres.
Lhevinne exhorts, "Have a firm grasp of the elements of harmony." De Larrocha tells us to "see phrases, chords, cadences." Dichter talks about "intervallic structure." All of this is mathematics, analysis, left brain work. When we first learn a piece of music, nearly all of the resources required are from the left brain. We read a written score, dutifully noting the specific finger numbers indicated, as we count out correct note values and intervallic relationships. However, as the piece becomes more familiar to us, the act of playing it becomes more and more unconscious--right brain. We play without the score (from memory) in order to concentrate more on the expression and the communication of emotion in the music. A colleague once stated that she found it more difficult to retain the memory of a piece than it was to memorize it in the first place. This is because the more familiar a work becomes, the more the memory of it resides in the right hemisphere of the brain. This is comfortable, but dangerous. It is comfortable when we are alone in our safe practice studio nestled in a familiar and secure environment. Here, all the learned connections seem to work effortlessly. Total reliance on right-brain memory, however, is dangerous when we walk onto a concert stage and confront a strange instrument, new visual stimuli, and a judgmental public. The left brain is stimulated in this foreign environment and begins to question all those connections that the right brain has been taking for granted in the practice studio. To counteract this, an effective memory strategy must be employed that actively utilizes both brain hemispheres. In doing so, a performer can maintain a secure state of performance readiness under all sets of external circumstances.
In answer to the third question raised in the introduction--Yes! memory can be taught. A variety of effective and creative methods have been developed that address both the process and retention of memory. Some important points common to many are listed below.
Ylda Novik wrote the chapter on memorization in James Bastien's "How To Teach Piano Successfully," and talks about the initial learning experience as follows. " In working with my pupils it became increasingly obvious that the old truism of lasting first impressions is indeed viable. This is where good sight reading is critical to the whole learning process. The mistake learned in the first week of work on a piece is, firstly, difficult to eradicate, and secondly, even if apparently eliminated, far too often returns under the stress of performance to plague the hapless tyro and sometimes even the experienced professional. Our job, therefore, is to convince the student that it is imperative to cultivate correct first-impression learning based upon good reading habits. Taking into consideration neurologists' finding of pattern establishment, it must be recognized that an incorrect initial imprint requires the brain to re-program the entire event in order to "correct" the false impression."
Bristow Hardin, a wise old piano teacher from Virginia Beach, used to ask all his students to take a piece of paper and fold it. "Now get rid of the fold," he said. Of course this is impossible, just as it is impossible to eradicate entirely a faulty connection created by a careless first reading of a piece of music.
Regarding the second point, remember Lhevinne's admonition, "Daily drill in memorizing, if only just a little, is better than studying memorizing now and then." It requires less energy to keep a moving object in motion than it does to start it up initially. Don't wait until a piece is "learned" to begin memorizing it. Memorize from the beginning.
Three senses are employed when making music. Of course we hear music; that is its very essence. We feel the keys and are aware of the physical nature of the keyboard's topography. When learning a piece we see the printed score, but what do we see when it is memorized? The realization that the common act of "memorizing" is simply a transferral of visual stimuli from the black and white of the printed page to the black and white of the keyboard can be tremendously enlightening. Actively using the tactile and visual senses to feel and see that c# instead of the c natural can produce positive and lasting memory imprints. Most pianists do not actively register sensations from all three senses when making music. An increased sensitivity to and awareness of these sensations contribute significantly to the efficiency of the learning and memorizing processes.
Much of the left and right brain discussion of music leads to theoretical issues. Remember that the Greeks used the image of one object placed in a room as a memory tool to recall a larger group of thoughts. In much the same way, the study of music theory is the acquisition of a vocabulary whereby one name represents a larger group of things. A "C major scale" is one name for seven different notes; a group of measures becomes one phrase; one theme is a series of phrases, etc. The formal sections of a composition can become the Greek's rooms into which the specific memory stimuli are placed. "Exposition," "development," and "recapitulation" are reusable "rooms" and can guide the performer in much the same way that "subject" and "countersubject" can. This deliberate use of the musical vocabulary needs to begin before a student's initial encounter with a specific composition and needs to continue through the performance phase. Chopin's b Minor Prelude, Opus 28, No. 6 is a short intermediate piece that can serve as a model of how theoretical analysis can stimulate and guide the active memory process.
Review the b minor scale and arpeggios before introducing this piece. Be sure to have the student talk about, write, or draw (all left-brain activities) something concerning the nature of this key. Continue to use as many left-brain, conscious mind activities as possible throughout the learning process. Proceed to the piece itself and talk about the left hand ascending arpeggios in measures 1, 3, 5, 9, 11, 13, and 23. First identify them by letter and quality (b, b, G, b, G, C, b) then discuss each triad's function within the key of b minor (i, i, VI, i, V/N, N, i). Note that all chords are in root position but ascend to different high notes. Notice at this same time the effect these changing high notes have on the right hand accompaniment. Point out the difference between measures 2 and 10. Two sections that begin the same (measures 1 and 9) but proceed differently provide the most fertile ground for memory trouble. Deal with this problem from the beginning. Draw the student's attention to the musical intent and effect of the note spacing within the arpeggios and the corresponding intensifying effect of the rising high note. The Neapolitan chord is especially important in this composition because its arrival marks the climax of the piece. If the student is unfamiliar with this term (Neapolitan), teach it now. At the very least, be sure the student/performer is aware that this harmony is not diatonic within the key of b minor, and its presence makes these measures special. Theoretical analysis of a composition can enhance and justify a musical interpretation. An analysis and theoretical discussion of Chopin's Prelude will reward the student with not only a more securely memorized set of notes, but a deeper musical understanding and more convincing interpretation.
Finally, constant attention to and challenge of a piece's memory increases a performer's security. There are many ways to create memory challenges. Play a piece out of order--recapitulation first, exposition, then development. Write out a fugue on manuscript paper. Draw a picture of the piece. Rebecca Shockley uses lines and squiggles to illustrate Bach's Two-part Invention No. 8 in an article she wrote for the July/August, 1986 issue of Clavier. Play that same Invention on the harpsichord; this challenges all three senses in that the harpsichord looks, sounds, and feels different from a piano. Play one hand and silently mark the other. Visualize the piece away from the piano. Talk about the piece; say out loud the bass notes of all the harmonies in a Chopin Waltz as you are playing it. Play in strange places - for strange people! Do this often. Above all else, be creative. This can actually be fun.
In conclusion, it is comforting to recall that Dichter ends his discussion of memory with Mach by saying, "If the artist is as perfectly prepared as possible with a complete understanding of the harmony and relationship of parts, and if the artist is rested and reasonably relaxed, and then still forgets something, then he's human, thank goodness!" Keeping the role of memory in perspective remains an important part of a healthy frame of mind for a performing artist. The Greeks made Mnemosyne into a Goddess; she was the mother of the Muses. A pianist's memory should function the same way, as a mother breathing life into meaningful and beautiful music.
Bastien, James W. How To Teach Piano Successfully. Park Ridge, Illinois: General Words and Music Company, 1977.
Lhevinne, Josef. Basic Principles in Pianoforte Playing. New York: Dover Publications, 1972.
Mach, Elyse. Great Pianists Speak For Themselves. New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1980.
Matthay, Tobias. On Memorizing. London: Oxford University Press, 1951.
Shockley, Rebecca. "A New Approach to Memorization." Clavier July/August, 1986: 20-23.
Yates, Frances A. The Art of Memory. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966.