Imagine a ruler lives in a castle, and word has spread in the realm that there will be an invading force upon his shores in three weeks. What should he do? Stock up on arrows? Probably. Order the forges to run day and night to arm soldiers? Absolutely. Hire mercenaries? Makes sense. He receives a message at dawn on the twentieth day: the first enemy troops have been sighted. The battle will commence shortly. He takes one last tour of his castle. The arrows are shiny and sharp. The swords will deal out lethal blows. The men are trained and stand shoulder to shoulder with the mercenaries. As he walks around the grounds, feeling ready. This is going to be a day of victory.

24 hours later, his hands shake as he signs the kingdom over to the enemy; an unthinkable result. What of the sharp arrows and hefty swords wielded by strong men? How has this come to pass?

Here is what the enemy saw as they approached: a splendid structure, armed to the teeth, waiting to be ravaged. There is no moat. No drawbridge. No doors. No lookout. No shields for the men who hold swords at the ready. No place of protection for the elders, the women, the children. No food provisioned for a siege. The king thought only of defeating the opponent and neglected his defenses! The conquering army waltzed right in and made quick work of the fool.

This is the way many people prepare for a performance, aka thinking only of creating conditions under which the notes will come out properly. Today, I’m going to talk about using your practice to seek out weakness and turn it into fortification against whatever slings and arrows a performance or other high pressure situation holds in store. Let’s rebuild your castle from the ground up.

It’s happened to all of us: you work hard, practice diligently, achieving some measurable improvement before you play in front of someone (a lesson, a performance, etc). Then, when you least expect it, the easy run explodes in your face. The rests become impossible to count; your pulse races as you forget whether this is in 2 or 4. The long note grinds to a halt. Was the accompaniment always playing triplets there?

Of course, I can paint such a vivid picture because it’s happened to me (a long time ago, but it is VIVID), and more recently, to many of my students. I want to prevent this in your playing because it’s unpleasant, detracts from the overall artistic effort, and mostly, because it is symptomatic of a larger weakness in approach. Solve this, and the hard parts become easier, too. I’m rooting for you to succeed.

In this subscriber only video, I talk about strategy and an approach that advocates for actively making the music harder in order to shine a light on weaknesses.

I would love to see how you put this into practice, as well as field any questions you may have.

Hugs, Em