Perfection, With a Side Order of Flaws

“Perfection is not attainable. But if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence.”

― Vince Lombardi

Perfectionism gets a bad rap. And for good reason. After all, a musical performance can never be perfect. There are too many balls to keep in the air at once. One can’t help but occasionally drop something. So it would seem that perfectionism has no place in the practice room. After all, why chase the impossible?

But this is a misunderstanding of what perfectionism should be. It’s not a result. Rather, it’s a vital element to producing an admirable result. Perfectionism itself is neither good nor bad. It’s like fire: you can warm your home with it, or you can burn your home to the ground with it. The result depends on how you use it.

It helps to treat perfection as a malleable thing. For example, some believe a perfect performance is one in which every note is a polished diamond, dutifully in attendance at its appointed time. But that’s wrong. Hearing a meticulously burnished performance is like hearing a computer-generated midi file. It’s boring. A great performance is unpredictable. Things happen that throw a listener off balance. One can’t do this with notes neatly arranged like ducks in a row.

Some years ago a student of mine did a class with a virtuoso. He got to hear the player while sitting right next to him. Afterward, I asked my student if the virtuoso had an absolutely pristine sound. “No, he didn’t!” replied my student with surprise. “Up close, there’s a slight roughness to his sound. But he makes it sound great.” We discussed this, and my student realized that misdirected perfection is a black hole. When a player is too fixed on perfection, it scrubs the passion out of the music. There’s a delicate balance at work. Too much perfection is itself an imperfection. It’s a misunderstanding of what great players want to do. Great players are obssessed with an emotional effect. The closer they get to it, the closer they are to musically meaningful perfection.

Perfection varies from person to person. The perfectionism of a master isn’t appropriate to a beginner. But aiming to be perfect is apt for both. The master may aim for the nuances of a style that sound like no one else. The beginner may aim to keep a steady beat while playing open string notes. So while the individual goal varies, the standard is the same for both master and beginner. Each tries to perfect something suited to their level.

Some people freak out when trying to be perfect. They’re dismayed when they fall short. But dwelling on the shortfall is the wrong idea. When aiming for perfection, falling short is inevitable. That’s not what matters. What matters is that high goals make high achievement more likely.

In playing an instrument, no one gets exactly what they aim for. Making music is far too complex for that. What really happens is that we all fall short of our ideal. Even great players fall short of the performance in their minds. In a quiet moment after the applause subsides, the great player likely thinks: “Not bad, but I wish I had done that vibrato just the way I wanted.”

What great players know—and what all of us can learn—is that perfectionism during practice raises what we can do in performance. In the hurly-burly of performing, we need not be perfect. We just need to get close enough that little flaws don’t matter.

In optics, there’s something called the “1/4th wave rule.” When making an optical lens or mirror, one doesn’t have to be perfect. Instead, one must produce an optical surface that’s accurate to within 1/4th of a wavelength of light. A lens or mirror that meets this standard will, for all practical purposes, behave as though it’s perfect. So the 1/4th wave rule is a threshold. Meet the threshold, and you’re essentially perfect.

Good players know this. They know they must strive for perfection as they practice. Then in performance, they turn off perfectionism and go with what they’ve got. If their practice was good, then their performance likely will be good. Yes, there will be flaws. But the good will far outweigh the bad. Listeners will be happy, and the player will live to play another day. (“Hey, maybe the next performance will catch lightning in a jar.”)

Perfection is a moving target. The better the player, the more individual and varied is his or her definition of perfection. Among great players, perfection contains multitudes.

Recommended Recordings

 

Manuel Barrueco: 300 Years of Guitar Masterpieces—VoxBox CD3X 3007

This three CD collection is a reissue of Cuban born virtuoso Manuel Barrueco’s early Vox LPs, recorded in the late 1970s to early 1980s. Included in this set is his stunning performance of selections by Spanish composers Isaac Albéniz and Enrique Granados. This 1978 Albéniz/Granados recording is perhaps the best example of what I call the “cool school” of guitar playing, eschewing color and warmth in favor of restraint, taste, and note perfect execution. One complaint: in this reissue VoxBox inexplicably spread the Albéniz/Granados selections over three CDs.

David Russell: Francisco Tárrega, Integral de Guitarra—Opera tres CDS 1003/4

Scottish guitarist David Russell spent much of his childhood in Spain, speaks fluent Spanish, and married a Spaniard. So he brings a deep understanding and affection to the music of late 19th century guitar virtuoso Francisco Tárrega. Add to this his supple phrasing and gorgeous tone—lovingly captured by recording engineer John Taylor, himself a guitarist—and you have a recording that shows off guitar playing at its finest.

Raphaëlla Smits: Early 19th Century Guitar Music—Accent ACC 21146

Belgium born guitarist Raphaëlla Smits has a deep interest in the guitar’s 19th century repertoire. In this recording she performs on a French guitar from about 1820, restored by the German luthier Bernhard Kresse. The music highlights two abiding interests of early 19th century composers: the concert etude and the song. The solo guitar arrangements of six Schubert lieder are breathtakingly beautiful, and Smits brings an operatic intensity to Luigi Legnani’s “Capricci.” This may be the finest available recording of music performed on an original 19th century guitar. 

Julian Bream: Twentieth Century Guitar I—BMG Classics 09026-61595-2 

Born in London in 1933, Julian Bream is now retired from actively touring and performing. This CD is a reissue of landmark recordings made for RCA between 1959-73. During this time, few guitarists were more compelling champions of new music than Bream. All the music in this CD is today firmly established within the standard guitar repertoire. Included is the world premiere of Benjamin Britten’s “Nocturnal”—now regarded as one of the greatest works written for the guitar during the 20th century. Bream’s performance, of course, is a historical landmark.

Jason Vieaux: Manuel Ponce, The Guitar Sonatas—Azica ACD-71212

When I first started listening to classical guitar, Julian Bream was the one artist who, if he released a new recording, I would buy it without hesitation. With Bream in retirement, my current “must buy” artist is Jason Vieaux. It’s difficult to choose between his many fine recordings, but a particular favorite of mine is his 2001 release of Mexican composer Manuel Ponce’s guitar sonatas. And don’t be put off by the idea of a CD entirely devoted to one composer. Two of Ponce’s guitar sonatas are homages to other composers—Fernando Sor and Franz Schubert—and Ponce wrote the sonatas in the style of these composers. (In fact, he was so successful at composing in other styles that some of his music in the baroque style was for many years misattributed to 18th century composers.) 

John Holmquist: Las Folias de España—Cavata CV 5001

This recording is a sort of “golden fleece” inclusion. Released only as a vinyl LP, it’s long been unavailable, and Cavata Music Publishers is no longer in business. In fact, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever come across a copy. But if you do, buy it. This is a stunning recording by underrated guitarist John Holmquist shortly after he won the 1978 Toronto International Competition. You’ll never hear the guitar played with greater vibrancy, depth, and intelligence. The five minute performance of Louis Couperin’s “Tombeau de Mr. Blancrocher” is sublime, and Ponce’s “Variations & Fugue on Las Folias de España” far surpasses recordings by more famous guitarists. That Holmquist faded from view almost unnoticed is a terrible loss to the classical guitar world.

Julian Bream: Popular Classics for Spanish Guitar—RCA 88697046062

Recorded in 1962, Bream is in his prime, playing with a passion and flair that no one has surpassed. This CD reminds us of how, in the right hands, the guitar has a voice that no other instrument can match. Too often today the guitar is played as though it’s a second rate piano, eschewing the supple shaping of sound for which stringed instruments are uniquely suited. Bream in this recording will have none of this. His approach is unabashedly sensual and prismatic. This is arguably the greatest single classical guitar recording ever made. While other recordings can claim more historical significance—for example, those that premiere important new works—none before or since has better showcased guitar playing at its absolute best.

Mind Off, Bias On

If you truly were a blank slate, learning the guitar would be easier. It would be like writing computer code: decide what you want, describe it in detail, enter the code, and you’re there. Voila! You’re an accomplished guitarist.

We’re not, however, blank slates. Even as beginners, we have automatic responses built into us. In a primal context, that’s a good thing. Automatic responses—for example, fight or flight—kept us alive when we were on the menu of hungry predators. But in more sophisticated (and less lethal) contexts, automatic responses can sabotage what we’re trying to do.

It helps to know how automatic responses can derail you during practice. If you’re alert to these subconscious quirks, then you can tame them, and thus keep them from slowing your progress. So in that spirit, let’s examine some common culprits that stand in your way.

Symmetry Bias

I often have beginners play “Frère Jacques” in G major. Here are the first four notes:

But when trying to play this for the first time, beginners invariably make this error:

Almost without exception, every beginner does this. And here’s the revealing thing: different beginners don’t make different errors—they all make the same error. (Over decades of teaching, I could’ve made a tidy sum betting beginners on what mistake they’d make when first trying to play this measure.)

Why?

The answer is that we have a hardwired and subconscious bias for symmetry. If a melody on the guitar creates a physical symmetry for our left hand, it’s easier to play. Notice, however, that the first four notes of “Frère Jacques” create an asymmetric movement. In essence, the left hand movement for the first four notes is “off, on, off, off.” Subconsciously, we prefer “off, on, off, on.” So unwary beginners give in to this bias. They instinctively change the asymmetric movement into something more symmetric.

Symmetry bias never entirely goes away. Even with advanced players, it lies in wait to pounce upon the unwary. It’s a relentless enemy. Know it well.

False Expectations

Here’s a passage from a piece intended for beginners:

When beginners get it wrong, they do this:

There’s an obvious reason for this error: those who make it aren’t accurately counting the second measure. But this error has another less obvious reason. To a beginner, after the litany of eighth notes in the first measure, the second measure’s half notes just seem too long. Playing the half notes as quarter notes feels more correct. (Experienced musicians notice the anomaly of a two beat measure in a common time piece—beginners, alas, don’t.)

Humans are wired to leap to conclusions. We abhor uncertainty. When faced with a lacuna, we instinctively fill it in—the quicker, the better. As long as our hasty interpolation conforms to our expectations, we’re satisfied. (I recall playing a wrong note in a piece for sixteen years, until another guitarist pointed out my mistake.) The irony of false expectations is this: the better your musical sense, the more likely you are to unknowingly alter the music. Your robust musical sense will lull you into accepting whatever inadvertent changes you make.

Overcomplexity

Some years ago I was practicing this passage:

On the first try, I botched the bar chord. My annoyance grew as the passage refused to get better on repeated tries. Then I noticed something. My second finger on the D# in the measure before the bar chord was the same finger holding the D# in the bar chord. Yet inexplicably, I was lifting this finger and then putting it back in the same spot. This made getting into the bar chord harder than it needed to be. Indeed, why lift the second finger at all? Just keep it in place as a pivot finger. So I did. On my next try, the passage snapped into focus. Simplifying the movement immediately solved the problem. (Now I was annoyed that it took so long to find this obvious solution.)

Sometimes errors are the result of unnecessarily complex fingerings. Fingerings should be as simple as we can make them. Mind you, this isn’t an excuse to accept unmusical playing in the pursuit of simplicity. If a tougher fingering gives a musical result that can’t be done with an easier fingering, then the tougher fingering is a valid choice. (Provided one can do it.) But if two fingerings—one difficult, the other easy—offer the same musical result, then the easier fingering wins every time.

Overcomplexity may not seem related to unthinking automatic responses. But it is. Too often we accept a fingering without thinking it through. We try to make a needlessly complex fingering work when, with some thought, a better fingering might be possible.

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What intrigues me about these errors is that they’re entirely automatic. Commonly, we’re no more aware of them than a computer is aware that it’s running faulty code. But equally intriguing is that they’re so reliably predictable. When assigning to a beginning student music I’ve used for years, I often can pinpoint the exact errors the student will make. Student after student, young or old—if they’re beginners, the errors are virtually the same. And these unconscious errors have the same basic cause: inattentive practice that allows our automatic biases to take over. So to become efficient practicers, we must accept that eternal vigilance is the price of better progress.

Indeed, I’ve become increasingly hostile to the notion of mindless practice. The reports that Franz Liszt practiced scales while reading a novel infuriate me. (To those who take umbrage at my dissent with Liszt: if he advocated jumping off a cliff, would you do it?) And recently I read the following online post:

“I watch television all the time while practicing. I just learn better that way. This way, I’m splitting my concentration between the television and whatever I’m playing—it helps me develop an auto-pilot mode.”

To which I reply: “No. No! NO!” Mindless practice invites the automatic errors I’ve described above. (A friend of mine aptly dubbed it “anti-practice.”) A mindless error, cemented by routine, becomes exasperatingly hard to root out. Mindless practice means wasting countless hours undoing what might have been avoided with more attention.

Abraham Lincoln once said: “If I had eight hours to cut down a tree, I would spend six hours sharpening my axe.”

He might’ve been a fine musician.

Learning Tremolo

Tremolo is relatively rare in the guitar repertoire. But it’s also the foundation of one of the most popular works for guitar: Recuerdos de la Alhambra. Since most of us eventually want to learn this piece, tremolo becomes a “must have” technique. I intend this article for those who’ve tried and failed to develop a good right hand tremolo. If you’re an intermediate to advanced player who doesn’t yet have a good tremolo, you may find this to be an effective alternative to what you’ve tried in the past.

Before beginning, you should recognize that no amount of practice can fully overcome bad technique. If your right hand position or movement are basically flawed, then you’ll have to work harder to achieve less. Good basic right hand positioning and movement are beyond the scope of this article, but remember they’re the foundation of everything that follows.

Another caveat: You should be cautious about any intensive work on your right hand technique, particularly if you’re an adult over forty. A sudden increase in the kind of practice outlined below can lead to soreness in your right shoulder. A reasonable amount of time to put into this procedure is fifteen to twenty minutes a day, and certainly no more than a half hour. Pay attention to your body, and pace yourself. Remember, you’re trying to improve your playing, not put yourself in a hospital.

More than most techniques, tremolo relies on speed to be effective. Without control, however, speed is useless. And here lies the basic problem with learning tremolo: speed and control don’t get along well with each other. Speed is easier when control is set aside, and vice-versa. Of course, no one denies that either can be ignored in a good tremolo. And in the vast majority of technical study, guitarists begin with control and then gradually add speed. Indeed, most of the time this is the only sensible way to go. But in learning tremolo, it’s time to turn this process on its head—you’ll now begin with speed and gradually add control.

To begin, you must first get an idea of how a finished tremolo should feel. So start by lightly drumming a, m, i on a table top. Be sure your fingers are in a loosely curled position, the same as when you play tremolo on the guitar. (Rather than stopping the instant they contact the table top, your fingers will slide a bit across the table top.) Drum your fingers no slower than a quarter note at 138. Drum all three fingers in one quick and smooth movement, pause, then repeat: a, m, i—pause—a, m, i—pause—a, m, i—etc.

As you do this, emphasize a light and easy feel in your fingers. It should feel as though you’re barely doing anything at all. REMEMBER THIS FEELING! Ideally, your finished tremolo will feel just this easy. This feeling is what you’ll be trying to cultivate in the exercises that follow.

Now pick up your guitar and try this on the first string. (Again, no slower than 138.) For stability, lightly rest your thumb on the third string:

At first, concentrate only on a feeling of physical ease. The nail of each finger should glide easily over the string. (If your nails repeatedly catch on the string, they’re probably too long. File them down a bit and try again.) Try not to bounce your hand on each three note burst. Also, some people tend to roll their hand sideways, unconsciously compensating for the different length of each finger. Try to avoid this. Either bouncing or rolling your hand are defects to be avoided in tremolo, as they’ll inevitably hurt your accuracy. Don’t rigidly lock your hand in place—rather, think of it as floating in just the right place over the strings. If you find one or more fingers bumping into the second string, reposition your arm so that your fingers are a bit more curved toward the palm. Don’t overdo this, you need only enough curvature so that your fingers can easily clear the second string.

Be sure that your a finger doesn’t slide along the string—rather, it should contact and depart the string at the same spot. Any sliding along the string is wasted motion.

For now, don’t worry about loudness or the quality of your tone. These are control issues you’ll get to later. Also, don’t be concerned with how far your fingers follow through. This will take care of itself in due time. But it’s a good idea to let your fingers immediately release back to their ready position at the end of each cycle. Don’t rush this release—just let your fingers fall easily into their ready position.

As you settle into an easy and smooth movement, now try to gradually control the rhythm, so that you produce three equally spaced notes. This will be challenging—your three note bursts may be raggedly timed at first. Stay with it, but don’t over-control it. Try to maintain an easy feel as you try to increase the accuracy of your timing. Monitor yourself as you do this. Does your right shoulder tense up as you try to control the rhythm? Then ease off the control, consciously relax your shoulder, and try again. Does your breathing become irregular? This is also a sign of over-control—again, ease off, relax, and try again.

Precisely what do I mean by over-control? Well, it’s easier to hear than to describe. But think of it this way. If I read aloud the following sentence: “What do you want to do?” it will sound something like this:

“Whadaya wanna do?”

This is idiomatic and understandable to anyone fluent in English. But if I over-control my recitation, it might sound like this:

“WHAT...do...you...WANT...to...DO?”

To any native speaker this sounds affected, as though I’m speaking a language I don’t understand. In effect, this explains what you’re going for in this tremolo exercise. You want the three note burst to roll trippingly off the tongue, so to speak. You don’t want it to sound as though you’re over-articulating each note.

As you experiment with these bursts, you might encounter one of the following problems:

• M tends to miss the string, leaving a hole in your three note burst. If this happens repeatedly, it could be that the different lengths and curvatures of each finger are affecting your accuracy. Try placing all three fingers on the first string, then move each finger in quick succession. (Obviously the notes produced by a and m will be muted.) Be careful not to lift m off the string as a moves. When you can do this easily, try the burst by still preparing your fingers on the string, but now, right before doing the burst, lift your fingers very slightly off the string. When you can do this easily, try the burst with no preparation, but your fingers should start from the position you established in the previous step.

• A tends to bump into the second string. If this is happening, then a is starting from a too extended position. Reposition your arm so that a is curled inward at the middle joint a bit more, so that it easily clears the second string when it plays.

Be particularly alert to how both a and c (the little finger) feel. In any complex right hand movement, they often tense up—ideally they should move together freely and easily, like a well-oiled hinge.

The keys here are to listen, then remember the feel. When it sounds good, try to repeat the feel—when it sounds bad, try to change the feel. Don’t be surprised if this doesn’t yield immediate results. The challenge here is that when you do each burst, you won’t know if the feel is correct until after you’ve heard the resulting sound. In a sense, you’re like a man walking in the woods at night, trying to shine a light on the skittish critters around you whenever you hear a sound. By the time you swing the light in the direction of the sound, the critter has run off, leaving you to guess what it might have looked like. So be patient, and keep experimenting until your notes are evenly spaced, and you can do this as easily as when you were drumming your fingers on a table top. Always remember, your goals are physical ease and accuracy. Again, don’t worry about tone or volume.

When you have this mastered, move on to the next exercise:

Now you’re adding the thumb into the mix. Again, concentrate on physical ease and rhythmic accuracy. Don’t be concerned with tone or volume, and don’t over-control the movement. Use just barely enough control to accurately time the four note bursts.

When this is going well, try this:

Listen closely as you do this. Are you accenting the last thumb stroke of this five note burst? If so, you’re over-controlling the movement—the accented last note means you’re increasing physical tension through the burst. Try to keep all the notes as dynamically even as possible. Again, don’t worry about tone, and don’t worry about playing loud. Your goals are physical ease, rhythmic accuracy, and dynamic evenness.

When this is going well, try this:

Again, focus on physical ease, rhythmic accuracy, and dynamic evenness. Remember the feeling of ease you had when merely drumming your fingers on a table top? That’s the feeling you’re going for here. Continue to monitor your right shoulder and your breathing.

When this is going well, try this:

Again, don’t crescendo through this burst—keep all the notes as dynamically even as possible. Your mantra is still physical ease and rhythmic accuracy.

When the last exercise is going well, try looping it two or three times without pause. You’re now starting to do a continuous tremolo. Remember your goals: physical ease, dynamic evenness, and rhythmic accuracy. Again, you want this to feel as easy as drumming your fingers on a table top.

At this point, you can begin to add more control to the mix. Notice all the above exercises are on the first string—this is the easiest string on which to do tremolo. Now you should move on to the other strings, where the room for error is smaller. Again, try to maintain the physical ease you’ve cultivated throughout this process. As your tremolo becomes more fluent and reliable, gradually increase the volume, and pay more and more attention to your tone quality. In time, you should be able to do tremolo at any volume, on any string, with a full palette of color—all the while maintaining the physical ease you felt when you began this process by lightly drumming your fingers on a table top.

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Questions & Answers

Should I use planting during all these exercises?

If you wish, you can very lightly prepare a on the string at the beginning of each burst. But you may want to delay planting until the late stages of your development of tremolo. In these exercises, remember that you’re beginning with speed, then gradually adding control. Since planting is a control technique, it can interfere with your feeling of physical ease. Bear in mind also that, with the fingers, planting is of limited use in tremolo.

Should I emphasize movement at any particular finger joint?

No. In this process, you should focus on how it feels, not how it looks. If you cultivate the greatest possible feeling of ease, then the finger movements will take care of themselves.

What should c (the little finger) be doing?

It should move easily with a.

During this process, should I vary the strings played by the thumb?

Not at first, but it’s a good idea as you become more fluent. The farther the thumb moves away from the fingers, the more it can interfere with their easy movement. So it’s a good idea to work with this until you can easily play the sixth string with the thumb while doing tremolo on the first string.

Have you always taught tremolo in this way?

No. At one time, my approach to tremolo was to begin with control and then gradually increase the speed. This is a fairly conventional approach, and in most areas of guitar technique it’s the best way to go. But over time, I’ve become convinced that the right hand needs a more nuanced approach.

I notice you say “the right hand” and not “both hands.”

Unlike most other instruments, stringed instrument players do very different things with the right and left hands. For the guitarist, an approach that works well for one hand isn’t always apt for the other. For the left hand, I would argue that “control first, then speed” is always a good idea. But for the right hand, beginning with control in some cases can inhibit the ability to develop speed.

What makes the right hand so different from the left?

The left hand moves about and stretches a lot more than the right. It’s easier to feel excess tension in large movements—in fact, large movements tend to dissipate tension. But the right hand tends to stay relatively still, and the finger movements in normal playing are far smaller. So it’s easier for excess tension to go unnoticed. By the way, this helps explain why flamenco guitarists often have more raw speed than classical guitarists. They do a lot of rasgueado, which is a larger and more vigorous movement than most other right hand techniques.

Further, right hand movements are almost always more refined than left hand movements. Stopping a string is relatively easy compared to shaping tone and dynamics when sounding a string. The left hand approaches the right hand’s refinement when doing slurs, portamento, or vibrato, but never fully equals it. In a sense, the left hand is a gymnast and the right hand is a dancer.

But why is beginning with control sometimes a bad thing for the right hand?

Because you can too easily control with excess tension. Beginning with control means playing slowly. At a slow speed you can play accurately in spite of excess tension. Since your accuracy is good, there’s no particular reason for you to notice the excess tension with which you’re controlling the movement. So practicing slowly, you ingrain this excess tension. When you gradually try to increase the tempo, this ingrained tension stays with you, and because it’s ingrained you probably won’t notice it. Instead, you assume you need more practice, and in doing so you further ingrain the excess tension. And so it goes, in a vicious cycle.

You tell students to pay particular attention to a. Why?

If any one finger is the key to a good tremolo, it’s a. This finger isn’t as naturally coordinated as i and m, and it far more easily falls victim to excess tension. Ironically, m is often blamed for problems that are really caused by a. For example, a common flaw when learning tremolo is that m misses, leaving a hole in the middle of the tremolo. But this miss is often set up by excess tension in a—the a finger curls in too much as it sounds the string, throwing m out of position.

Also, cultivate a flexible tip joint in a, letting it give a bit as it sounds the string. Indeed, all three fingers should allow the tip joint to give. (Pepe Romero has advocated flexible tip joints for years, and he has one of the best right hands in the business.)

Isn’t it true that anyone who can play right hand arpeggios fluently will have little trouble playing tremolo?

For most people, yes. There’s a lot of wisdom behind Andrés Segovia’s maxim that tremolo is an arpeggio on one string.

So why use tremolo to cultivate the feeling of physical ease that’s so important to right hand technique? Wouldn’t it make more sense to do this with arpeggios, which are far more common in guitar playing than tremolo?

In a perfect world, guitarists would cultivate this physical ease long before they get to tremolo. And some do. In the real world, however, most guitarists don’t. I suspect the main reason is that, other than cross-string trills, tremolo is one of the few right hand techniques with all three fingers that relies on speed to be effective. This may seem surprising at first—don’t right hand arpeggios often rely on speed? But when you think about it, most arpeggio pieces in the student repertoire don’t require the speed that tremolo does. The Villa-Lobos Etude No. 1, for example, sounds fast at a tempo of 120. Tremolo, however, drags at this speed. So it’s entirely possible that, for many students, tremolo is their first encounter with such high right hand finger speed.

In fact, tremolo is uniquely suited for cultivating a better feel for physical ease. We’ve already noted the need for speed, but there’s an additional factor. In most arpeggios, the fingers naturally fall on consecutive strings. In tremolo, however, the fingers must all play on one string, and this is more awkward than playing consecutive strings. So the combination of speed and increased awkwardness makes tremolo a good diagnostic tool for right hand excess tension. Indeed, it can help you detect problems that might fly below the radar in other right hand techniques. And the physical ease you cultivate in pursuit of an accurate and reliable tremolo will pay dividends in almost every other area of right hand technique.

You say very little about the differences between hands from person to person. Is this an oversight?

I don’t say much about this for two reasons. First, in a written article it’s impossible to account for every individual hand. But the second reason is more subtle, and I’ll use myself as an example. On my right hand, when my fingers are completely relaxed the m finger sticks out a bit from the others. (Perhaps in a previous life I was a New York cab driver.) This, of course, is a disadvantage when learning tremolo, and I spent many hours trying to train it to stay in with the other fingers. But I’m convinced now that this was a mistake. By trying to make m stay in, I was forcing it into a position that simply wasn’t comfortable. Indeed, I was making a fundamental mistake: I was more concerned with how it looked than how it felt. It’s the feel that’s important—the easier it feels, the better it works. If it feels easiest in a slightly unorthodox position, then so be it. Pardon the pun, you’ve got to play the hand you’re dealt.

Having said this, there’s an old saying among airplane engineers: “If it looks good, it flies good.” The same is true with guitar technique. When tremolo feels and sounds good, it also looks good. So no one should justify horrendous looking technique by saying it feels good, particularly those who aren’t yet competent players. What I’m saying is that there are times in advanced study when finding the right feel is more productive than finding the right look.

Will this procedure lead some people to make changes in how they hold the guitar?

I wouldn’t be surprised if it does. For example, those who become more sensitive to excess right arm tension often find they’re holding the guitar head too low. Raising the guitar head a bit brings down the lower bout of the guitar, which puts the right shoulder into a more relaxed position.

Will this procedure alone ensure a good tremolo?

Possibly, but this will vary from person to person. Obviously the effectiveness of this procedure depends on the care and intelligence with which it’s carried out. Further, many people will need to improve their finger independence between m and a. There are a number of ways to do this. For example, Greek concert guitarist Antigoni Goni had this approach:

“At the time that I was practicing tremolo for the first time I was also playing the Segovia scales for three hours every day, insisting on m & a fingerings. I really think it helped a great deal.”

While three hours a day of m and a scale work might be a tad much for most tastes, it does illustrate the importance of developing independence between these fingers. I like to use music for this. A favorite of mine is to play Sor’s Op. 6 No. 1 with the p, m, a, m pattern—for me, this piece is just long enough for a good workout. I’ve also used the scales in thirds from Giuliani’s Op. 1. Rasgueados are also excellent for developing finger independence.

As always, players should carefully monitor themselves as they do any rigorous exercises. Mindlessly pounding away at exercises can lead to injury.

Is there anything new in how you teach tremolo?

People have been playing and teaching the guitar for a long time, so it’s unlikely I’ve discovered something new. I’d like to think I’ve explained things somewhat better than most, which after all is the prime job of a teacher. But I’m not the best or final judge of that. Ultimately it’s up to each student to decide if what I’ve written works. And that’s as it should be.

Note Grouping

Few concepts can raise the level of your playing more than an understanding of note grouping. And few concepts are more difficult to convey in writing. But I hope this essay will pique your interest in this intriguing subject.

Note grouping is a way of giving meaning to notes by accenting some and deemphasizing others. This idea has a long history. Baroque musicians sometimes talked about “good” and “bad” notes—the idea that some notes should be given more weight than others. Think of it like this. Consider the following sentence:

     “What do you want?”

A simple question of only four words. But now consider the different shades of meaning you can get by emphasizing different words:

     “WHAT do you want?”

     “What DO you want?”

     “What do YOU want?”

     “What do you WANT?”

     “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

     “WHAT...DO...YOU...WANT?”

The words themselves are unchanged, yet each new inflection subtly changes the meaning of the sentence. In fact, inflection alone can radically change the meaning:

     “What! Do you want?”

While the analogy between language and music isn’t precise, it does tell us a bit about how a musical passage can change its meaning through how it’s inflected. Consider, for example, the following:

This is nothing more than a string of undifferentiated notes, and a literally minded player would play it that way. But a creative player might do something more interesting: emphasizing the last note in each measure, to give it a kick across the barline to the downbeat of the next measure:

This is what musicians call “upbeat grouping.” In upbeat grouping, the last beat of one measure is accented to sound like it’s driving toward the first beat of the next measure. How is this done? The textbook definition of note grouping typically says this is done by slightly altering the timing of certain notes. Here’s a visual illustration—notice that each third beat note is slightly delayed:

But note grouping also can be conveyed not just through timing, but also through dynamics, vibrato, tone color—indeed, through any means or combination of means a player wants to employ:

Now let’s hear upbeat grouping applied to a snippet of melody:

For my taste, not enough guitarists pay sufficient attention to note grouping. Some guitarists apparently play for years without really considering which notes should be connected and which should be detached. The reason becomes clear when you realize that, for guitarists, breathing isn’t something we need to think about while playing. Oboe players, on the other hand, must constantly control their breathing. For them, knowing where to put a breath is a vital part of their musicianship—a breath in the wrong place can make the music sound disjointed. In fact, I would recommend that all guitarists who aspire to better musicianship should listen to good oboe players. Working with a good singer is another good idea. English guitar virtuoso Julian Bream said that only after working with tenor Peter Pears did he really understand phrasing.

Of course, there’s far more to this subject than just upbeat grouping. But my goal in this short article is to draw attention to how note grouping can energize a musical performance. As you apply this in your own playing, always remember that note grouping is about nuance. Done correctly, listeners should be aware that something is going on, but without quite knowing how it’s done. If listeners can hear the effort behind note grouping, then it’s being overdone. Also, there’s no formula for deciding where and how much note grouping to use. Different players can take this same concept and come up with entirely different performances. As in other aspects of musical interpretation, everything is influenced by the skill, taste, and imagination of the player.

Franz Schubert: Ländler, from D. 366

Now let’s hear an audio example of upbeat grouping applied to real music. (The following recording is a trio in which I play all three parts.)

Schubert had a gift for writing simple, unpretentious works that are anything but simple-minded. Although this piece is deceptively easy at first hearing, it has quicksilver turns of harmony and mood that are the hallmarks of Schubert’s best music. A ländler (pronounced “lend-ler”) is a rustic dance in triple time. Popular in Europe during the early 19th century, it’s usually performed at a lively tempo and was the forerunner of the waltz.

Technically this is a fairly easy piece, and the predominant rhythm is a quarter note upbeat followed by a half note downbeat. But as you’ll hear, this apparently simple piece offers a wealth of possibilities in articulation and phrasing. In some places I’ve applied upbeat grouping in a subtle way, in other places I apply it more liberally. Listen, for example, to the passage beginning at 2:03, where I wanted a mincing quality, so I did an obvious upbeat grouping in all three parts. In contrast, at the da capo section (2:14) I wanted a more subdued mood, so what little grouping I do here is very slight. You might also notice that when I do portamento between two notes, it’s often on an upbeat. (Ornaments also can sound particularly good when played either on or right after an upbeat.)

Bear in mind that this kind of playing requires attentive hearing—people who listen passively are unlikely to notice it. But if you listen closely, you’ll notice how much my performance relies on upbeat grouping.