PIANO THOUGHTS (by Roberto Prosseda)

FACING THE AUDIENCE

Whenever a musician finds himself performing in concert, he has a great opportunity: that of sharing the beauty of music with many other people. Yet this sometimes generates negative reactions: fear of not being up to par, of making mistakes, that is, in short, performance anxiety. And the problem is not always solved by experience: there are well-known cases of great artists who even after thousands of concerts continue to suffer before going on stage. Personally, I believe that the best approach to a healthy and positive relationship with the audience is to project attention to the music, to the beauty of sharing it with people who have flocked to the concert precisely out of a desire to feel good, to be enriched by listening to musical masterpieces. Certainly, a large part of the audience is made up of men and women who are bent, ready to receive the gift of an artist who puts his or her sensitivity at the service of music and its sharing. By focusing on this thought, it is easier to banish fears, and make one's interpretation more intense, welcoming the audience's concentration of listening. When this virtuous circle is engaged, the concert becomes a magical moment, and even any small imperfections go unnoticed, as the ear is projected to follow a message of higher intensity. It is not always easy to place oneself in this condition, but without a doubt it is important to try. And if the result is rewarding, this will be thanks to both the performer and the audience: the concert is a collective event, where all participants have an active role and contribute to its success.

THE CONCERT SEEN FROM THE STAGE

The concert is a unique moment in which a performer has the opportunity to convey his ideas and emotions to the audience in a direct and intuitive way. However, there are many elements that influence the acoustic and emotional communication of music: this does not coincide exclusively with the performer's expressive intentions, but is in part determined both by his physical and psychological condition and by numerous external parameters, which can vary from day to day, if not even during the same evening.

Of course, the instrument has a fundamental influence: it can be significantly altered by fluctuations in temperature or humidity and take on a completely different sound depending on the acoustics of the hall. For pianists and organists, the problem is more complex, since they have to try to get the most out of an instrument they are unfamiliar with, and which may be very different from their own. In the piano, for example, there are many variables: timbre, dynamic response, length of sound, weight and stroke of the keyboard, and even the size of the black keys, which may be longer or shorter, or more or less tapered. The technical preparation of the piano, which includes tuning, intonation, and fine-tuning of the mechanics, is another particularly important element: many pianists know how the same instrument can improve incredibly if it is cared for by a first-rate technician. The bench can also create quite a few problems: it can be noisy, unstable, tilted, or not perfectly adjustable, so it is not surprising that many people decide to bring it along.

The stage is a crucial element in the success of a concert. In many ancient theaters it is not level, but sloping down toward the audience, forcing performers (especially pianists) to play with a shifted center of gravity. In "severe" cases, shims are used to be placed under the right wheel of the piano; logically, these should also be placed under the bench, to keep it on the same plane. These seem trifles, but all these aspects require special adjustment in calculating the distances and the force to be imparted to the fingers, which often also affects the artistic result of the performance. No wonder, therefore, that the most finicky pianists walk around with a spirit level to check the slope of the keyboard!

Auditorium acoustics can highly enhance (but also ruin!) a concert performance. A good hall should also return reliable auditory feedback to the performer onstage, allowing him or her continuous verification of his or her work, to stimulate him or her to seek further expressive details. Conversely, poorly functional acoustics, whether too dry or too redundant, can force the performer to radically alter performance parameters (speed, dynamics, articulation), risking significantly limiting the effectiveness of communication.

The performer's concentration is subject to multiple aural or visual disturbances present in the room: these often have a major influence on the performance. Regular noises, such as ticking clocks or drops of water, can have a "metronome effect" that creates interesting polyrhythmic play... The lights and colors surrounding the performer also affect his or her performance, sometimes altering the acoustic perception of sounds. The relationships between sight, hearing and smell have been the subject of numerous scientific studies, which have revealed very interesting consequences on sensory abilities. This applies, of course, to listeners as well.

Audience noises pose a more complex problem, since the performer perceives them largely as a reaction to his or her own performance. Even an innocent coughing fit, therefore, may represent for him a symptom of failure, or at least of insufficient expressive tension. The relationship with the audience is different in every concert. The performer always tends to get a clear idea of those he is addressing, sometimes identifying one or two faces that unknowingly become his interlocutors, and perhaps trying to glean their reactions during the applause. Almost no one feels that he has to change his performance according to the type of audience he finds, yet this happens very often, almost always unconsciously. It is natural that if a certain complicity is created between the listeners and the performer, the latter will be more comfortable, feel their trust and know how to give his best to meet their expectations. On the contrary, if he or she will feel mistrust based on the type of applause, hall noise, or simply his or her own instincts, the concert will be all uphill. Therefore, it is good to know the habits of the various audiences, so as not to misunderstand their reactions: it is useful to know, for example, that people applaud less in Tokyo than in Mexico City, or that the whistles in New York have the opposite meaning of those in Milan.

There are, in addition, some seemingly negligible elements that influence the concertgoer's performance: atmospheric pressure, temperature, hours of sleep, nutrition, family concerns, the success of the soccer team he or she cheers for, and many other aspects of daily life. Everyone deals with these issues differently: some people lock themselves up in retreat for several days before a concert, or some listen to the soccer game until they have to go on stage!

The aspect that musicians give most importance to in preparing for a concert is the study of the repertoire on the program. An attempt is made to keep the margin for error to a minimum, so that all the above-mentioned contingencies can be dealt with and resolved as best as possible. In my opinion, however, the quality of technical preparation is not in a perfect cause/effect relationship with the result in concert. Often an over-tested program, filed down to the smallest details, succeeds less well than another more difficult one prepared in less time. This is not only due to external contingencies, but also to the greater focus and superior commitment that are often present in the more "risky" concerts. And the knowledge that one has not perfectly fine-tuned all the details can also have a positive influence, stimulating a search for the impromptu magic that makes the concert a unique and meaningful experience for the audience. The meticulous preparation of the program serves mainly to give psychological security to the performer, but it can convert into a disadvantage if it goes to limit the creativity of concert performance.

In conclusion, most of what influences the outcome of a concert is independent of the performer's good will. However, he can make life easier for himself if he can achieve sufficient concentration to forget what may disturb his performance. Concentration does not, however, mean total closure to the outside world. On the contrary, musical creativity is nourished precisely by extramusical stimuli, and, as is obvious, the more profound and multiple life experiences an artist has, the richer and more interesting his music will be.

Interpretation, moreover, cannot be hermetically preserved equal to itself, but naturally adapts to the human events of the individual and the culture around him or her. This is why it is fundamentally futile to try to copy from other artists, or to chase after a perfect performance idea based on the memory of a particularly successful evening: perhaps the exact same interpretation would not fit a different context, and would be ineffective in terms of emotional expression. Ultimately, music exists only according to what is perceived by each individual. The greatest concern for a concert pianist should be, therefore, to communicate his or her own ideas and interiority as best as possible through the musical message left by the great composers of the past (or, why not, of the present).

We are moving toward a world in which technical perfection and objectivity are in danger of becoming an obsession. Perhaps it is the task of music, those who produce it and those who enjoy it, to ensure that the poetry and unpredictability of art continue to enrich and enhance our existence.

SELF LISTENING FROM AFAR

One of the primary needs for a classical music concert pianist is adequate projection of sound in the hall. If the sound does not come through clearly and well to the listener, after all, even a very fine and richly detailed interpretation risks being poorly communicated, or even misunderstood by the audience.

Many great performers, however, care much more about the perfect tuning of their instrument, and much less about how the sound reaches the listener in a given hall. It is also true that each hall has different acoustic characteristics, which sometimes radically alter the projection of sound. The perception of speed and clarity of detail are, therefore, also largely influenced by the reverberation and equalization of the hall, the acoustics of which can add softness to the sound (sometimes, however, at the expense of clarity of detail), or make it harsher or swell it disproportionately. Often a touring orchestra or soloist has only a few hours to rehearse in a hall, and their time to test acoustic response is therefore extremely limited. How, then, to optimize sound projection in a short time?

In my experience, I have found that it is always very useful to listen to our instrument while sitting in the audience, thus asking a colleague to play it for us. In this way we will, of course, have a generic and not an accurate impression, since every musician has a different way of playing, but it can serve to give us a rough idea of how the sound "travels" in the room and how it arrives, sometimes changing radically depending on the position in the room from which we listen.

At this point it will also be easier for us, once we are back on stage playing, to imagine that we are listening from the audience while we ourselves are playing. If we try, in fact, to ideally place our listening point not on the stage where we are, but farther away, in the middle of the hall, it will be easier for us to think about projecting sound far away, and also to manage the propagation time of sound and resonances according to the acoustics of the hall. On closer inspection, each hall can be regarded as a large resonance chamber, and thus as part of the instrument itself: the hall acoustics transmit sound from the instrument to the listener and is, therefore, an indispensable link in the communication chain of live music.

Even in the everyday studio, even in a very small room, it can be useful to get used to "listening from a distance," as if we were sitting in an imaginary audience, and strive to produce sound that can travel well through the air, and reach far. This also depends on technical factors: by using a long lever, such as, for example, the whole arm, and not just the finger, the sound will gain more depth.

In summary, then, it is important to "listen" to the room in which we play, and not just to our instrument. The result of a performance is an alchemy between our expressive ideas, the response of the instrument, and the intervention of the acoustics, and only by giving proper consideration to all these three elements can we best express our musical intentions.

MARTIN BERKOFSKY: "WHY DO WE MAKE MUSIC?"

When I meet piano students at master classes or auditions, the first question I ask them is, "Why do you play?" That is, I am interested in knowing what their deep motivation is, or whether they have a long-term goal that spurs them to spend so many hours a day studying an instrument. In most cases, this question is followed by reactions of embarrassment or astonishment. Asking "Why do you play?" creates discomfort. The most obvious reason for this discomfort is often related to the realization that one has been doing something for many years without ever really having asked why. This is not to say that there is no why, but, rather, that often the routine of daily study and school or professional life is likely to cloud our deepest motivations.

There are those who answer, "I play because I started from a very young age and by now I want to graduate from high school." Or, "I play because I want to become a concert pianist and be famous and rich." Understandable motivations, but perhaps related more to an acknowledgement of what others (parents, teachers, friends) expect of us than to what we really feel. Often we tend to confuse a medium- or long-term goal, such as graduating from the conservatory or winning a major international competition, with deep motivation, which must, evidently, be sought elsewhere.

After all, dedicating a life to music is a radical choice clearly dictated by a strong passion: it is not a path that offers any particular guarantee of professional success or financial enrichment, and it goes without saying that there must be a strong inner drive. Many people like to play music because through music they are able to live more intensely, or because they develop a sensitivity of listening and an inner gaze that embellishes each day, or because the discipline of constant and methodical study helps to achieve a better inner balance. These are all shareable motivations related to one's own experience and sensitivity.

Therefore, I would like to emphasize the importance of awareness of one's own motivations: only by focusing on one's own deep goals and aspirations, and not confusing them with the expectations others may have of us, will we be able to find a sincere and fruitful way to find, in music, the answers to our questions.

I like in this context to remember the great pianist Martin Berkofsky (1943 - 2013), an artist of exceptional talent, intensity and spirituality. His philanthropic vision of making music as a powerful and infallible means of sharing beauty and overcoming painful moments is well summarized by his own words: The role of the performer is to give beauty and inspiration to others, and to do so with the most honest and humble pursuit of these values in ourselves, in the will to create a better world. Music heals. It brings peace to the spirit, joy to the heart, comfort to the physical body. It transforms humanity into fraternity. It encourages to strive generously for others, for high ideals. To dedicate ourselves and our work for that which ennobles the human spirit, to overcome and resolve, even the most painful illnesses and conflicts, and holds high the plane of values for which we personally strive.

PROFESIONALISM AND ART

Professionalism and art are two worlds that often go hand in hand, especially in the field of classical music: the best musicians are all "music professionals," but the concept of "professionalism," when applied to a musical performance, cannot neglect the effectiveness of communicating the artistic message.

Today there is an increasingly widespread notion that a professional musician must have total control over what he or she does: quite right, of course, except that this can become a priority that comes at the expense of emotional sharing and interpretive depth. More and more often today, unfortunately, professionalism rhymes with prudence, with the absence of impetus and enthusiasm, with the fear of taking interpretive risks in order to safeguard a professional "demeanor" that does not allow for yielding.

The discourse is certainly complex and delicate. But one should perhaps recognize the limitations of a system of music education, widespread in Italy, based on a limited repertoire and interpretative models often imposed as casts to be reproduced.

For example, is it more professional to be able to play Chopin's Etudes by slavishly copying Maurizio Pollini's recording (though without equaling its musical tension), or to be able to move the audience in a recital, at the expense of a few dirty notes?

Is it better to prioritize a performance without wrong notes but with serious musical "pronunciation" errors, or to take risks in order to respect the articulations and phrasing indicated by the composer???

And, conversely, is it more serious to soil a virtuosic passage because one plays it with élan and passion, or to play that passage just being careful not to make mistakes, and thus without due enthusiasm and involvement?

THE POWER OF IDEAS

I recently served on the jury of an international competition. I was thus able to listen to many pianists, often comparing interpretations of the same piece, and I better understood what exactly strikes and fascinates me while listening to a musician: the strength of the ideas he or she can express during performance. The stronger the ideas, the more convincing they are. And the more convincing they are, the more consistent they are with what is written in the score and with the basic principles of Western music: respect for harmonic and intervallic tension, clarity in giving plastic form to phrases, dramatic and narrative handling of the form. These are, of course, the priorities that a performer should pursue in studying and performing in public, whether in competition or in concert (not least because there should be no difference in approach between the two situations). But, having spoken with some eliminated competitors, I noticed that many of them were convinced that they failed the test because of material errors: wrong notes or memory lapses, as if a competition were an obstacle course, where mistakes are counted and the one who made the "clear path" wins.

It is rare for this to happen during a contest, when competitors are actually charged with a sense of responsibility that risks diverting their attention from purely musical and artistic principles. On the contrary, often a mistake, even an obvious one, can easily go by the wayside when the interpretation is engaging, intense, and sincere. Only in such cases does total identification occur between performer and music, and when this happens the same can also occur between listener and music.

Sharing live music, whether in a concert, a competition, or a lecture, always remains a privileged moment. I am certain that this is the best way to experience music in a more intense and engaging way.

MEMORY AND CROSSROADS

Many pianists are often confronted with the problem of memory, and especially with the fear of incurring "memory lapses" during a public performance. Very often, in reality, the problem is not related to the actual memorization of the piece, but to performance under critical conditions, i.e., in front of an audience or in particularly stressful contexts (competitions, auditions, exams), in which the pianist himself reacts differently. Thus, rather than memory problems, it would be correct to say "memory interference problems," in the sense that it is precisely the interference generated by nervous (and often also muscular) tensions triggered by fear of facing a particularly stressful situation that impairs performance.

There are many remedies to reduce these risks, and the first is, of course, to convince oneself that there is no reason to consider a public performance as something risky. It is also very important to always take care of muscle relaxation and constant awareness of which muscles we are using: often in public we tend to stiffen up muscles and tendons, which results in a change in our set-up at the piano, and, as a result, also risks compromising memory retention, which also relies on bodily and tactile references.

In my personal experience, however, I have noticed that the pianists who have the most memory problems are those who do not have a clear conception of the structure of the piece they perform. In fact, every musical composition has various kinds of "forks," i.e., bifurcations of speech, in which, if one does not pay attention, one risks "taking the wrong path." In such a case, it may happen that you go back several pages, or, on the contrary, suddenly and prematurely find yourself at the end of the piece. There is a simple remedy to reduce the risk of this happening: having numerous "stakes" of reference while performing the piece, that is, always knowing where we are, having a clear "map" of the composition and the route we have to take within it. In particular, we must always have in mind what the forks are, and accustom our mind during the study to foresee them well in advance, just as a navigated driver who knows well the road he has to take would do. Thus, the risk of "missing a junction" is very small, and even if it happened, we would be in time to get back on the main road without losing our course.

MUSICIANS AND GLAMOUR

Looking at the different approaches with which classical musicians pose to the public and the media, it becomes clear that image and communication play an increasingly important role in determining professional success. It is important, therefore, for every artist to take care of how his or her image is managed and conveyed.

For some career musicians, however, it seems that the primary goal is not to make music in the best possible way, trying to be as sincere and true to the composers' intentions as possible, but to implement their personal success through careful image work, "using" music for their own personal ends: these are the "musicians-glamour." And, when attention to appearance far outweighs attention to content, doubts come to the authenticity of this approach. Success, however, often comes to musicians-glamour, and this shows how the public, unfortunately, is increasingly sensitive to the winks of a pretty picture on the cover or on a concert poster, hand in hand with the diminishing musical awareness of the average listener, who is ready to be deluded by careful marketing campaigns.

Many serious[ous] musicians are, of course, critical of "musicians-glamour," to whom, moreover, they envy the ease with which they achieve success. There is, however, also an opposite excess, that of the "music officials": they are still too anchored in academic realities, and unconsciously repeat musical patterns and formal rituals learned from their teachers or models, without a real awareness of their role in today's society. For them, too, the focus is not on the music itself, but, paradoxically, once again on the image: an image, however, not at all glamorous, but purposely gray, stubbornly rehashing formalities and attitudes that might perhaps have made sense 50 years ago (but even then there were great musicians like Glenn Gould or Leonard Bernstein who were by nature allergic to the outward clichés of the "classical musician"). The "music officials," lacking individuality and sincerity, relegate their role to the clerical one of reintroducing pre-existing stylistic features. In doing so, they assume a position paradoxically similar to those of glamorous musicians, with whom they share the absence of deep-rooted artistic motivation and a sincere message to share: for them, too, what matters is success. The difference being that they usually do not achieve it, except, perhaps, in competitions where juries are also composed of as many "officials" (i.e., their teachers).

There is, in addition, a third category, no less linked to the cult of (others') image: that of "imitator musicians." These are those who consciously imitate models of great artists, but limiting themselves to appearance: violinists who mimic Uto Ughi or Jasha Heifetz, pianists who attempt to reincarnate themselves as Glenn Gould or Michelangeli. But a young pianist who replicates the compassed and elegant gestures of Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli can hardly replicate even his brilliant charisma (which was, moreover, original: Michelangeli imitated no one else). And, even if he succeeds in the perfect copy of a historical performance, are we really sure that this has any use today? That it is the result of his sincere feeling? Shouldn't an artist be above all himself, and consequently original, the bearer of "his own" artistic message, to be boldly promulgated, even at the cost of breaking established patterns?

THE SOCIAL ROLE OF MUSICIANS

"In first person I am suffering the proliferation of undeserving recommended artists who pop up in seasons all over Italy. I find it disrespectful that so many young "music freshmen" who are not quite up to par are always on the billboards of the most important seasons instead of those who have more experience, ability and talent than them."

Thus vented on Facebook a pianist who has won major international competitions. And there are many musicians today who, having reached an excellent professional level, feel as if defrauded of the right to be hired: as if a utopian "music system" should guarantee them stable concert activity. This could perhaps have been the case in the 1960s or 1970s in the communist countries of Eastern Europe, when a centralized organization managed cultural production with exclusively public funds. Today, in Italy, the situation is drastically different: the economic crisis and increasing cuts to culture force artistic directors to operate with criteria of commercial convenience, sometimes at the expense of mere professional quality. The mistake we often fall into is to look at the reality of current Italian cultural life only from one point of view: ours, that is, as far as I am concerned, that of those who get on stage and are paid to play. From this perspective, it would come naturally that the selection criterion for a concert season would be the skill of the performers. But who assures us that our professionalism alone is sufficient to stimulate in the audience and the organizers the desire to hear us in concert? And are we sure that the audience is able to truly perceive the quality of an artist in the same way that a professional in the field can judge it?

Inventing new forms of communicating music: not only concerts in the theater. Offering classical music live even in very small doses, with 5-10 minute micro-concerts in schools, public places, shopping malls, private homes, could perhaps gradually create greater interest and break through that rubber wall that divides most people from listening to a Beethoven sonata

Analyzing the meteoric careers of musicians on the crest of the wave today who are not exactly flawless professionally, one notices certain distinctive traits that have determined their success regardless of their artistic qualities, and which should be framed and studied in a sociological context: a particular biographical detail, a look that makes them immediately recognizable, a certain way of speaking or posing. Audiences need to identify themselves with humanly engaging stories, and pure musical listening itself can be more or less intense and experienced precisely on the basis of the outline, the image that contextualizes musical perception with aspects that do not belong to the music itself, but affect its communication. From the fortunes of these phenomena there is much to be learned: marketing strategies successfully applied in the pop sphere or in advertising campaigns can easily work even with the more articulate content of cultured musical projects, as effective means of creating new generations of listeners.

After all, already the current audience is largely composed of people who love music, but who listen to it with a different approach than the professional. I am convinced that almost all concert-goers (and I include myself among them) seek emotional involvement, wait for the moment of emotion, hope for a moment of magic that transports them to distant and higher worlds. The wrong note can also go unnoticed, while weak emotional involvement and lack of communication on the part of the performer are deadly. And this is even more true for all the "rest of the world," that other 99.9 percent of people who do not normally go to a classical music concert but could potentially get involved if reached effectively. But how?

For example, by inventing new forms of communicating music: not just concerts in theaters. Offering classical music live even in very small doses, with 5-10 minute micro-concerts in schools, public places, shopping malls, private homes, could perhaps gradually create more interest and break through that rubber wall that divides most people from listening to a Beethoven sonata. Experiences such as Pianocity (a project of hundreds of concerts over two or three days in the private homes of a city) have shown that it is possible to maintain the magic of a concert even in venues other than those traditionally devoted to listening to classical music. The important thing is to ensure the concentration and silence necessary to "administer" the music of Mozart, Beethoven or Chopin, without distorting its meaning. Not, therefore, listening in the background, but moments in which the attention of 5, 10, 50 people is entirely channeled toward the musical message. The "piano recital," invented by Liszt in 1837, is now in danger of being an obsolete format. It may not die out, but it certainly needs to be reshaped according to the new modes of communication in contemporary society.

And in any case, it is not true that the audience is "dying out." But work must certainly be done to restore to live classical music its social utility, so that it is perceived as a primary, natural need: not just entertainment, but an opportunity for inner growth, introspective deepening, individual energies channeled toward a common feeling. Today, many people feel the need for a renewed "health of the spirit," to experience their emotional sphere with greater awareness. Listening to a concert is not like participating in a yoga session, but it can yield the same benèfic results.

Above all, we musicians, in the first person, must also become "communicators of music": disseminators in the highest and noblest sense of the term. Disclosure does not at all mean debasement or trivialization. On the contrary: it means breaking down the prejudices and social fences that sometimes limit the poetic message of a musical performance. It also means creating occasions in which music is explained: not with swampy musicological lectures, but with informal meetings in bookstores, schools, pubs, gardens, in which a group of musicians tell about their experience with music, their view of a particular author or piece. At the Parco della Musica in Rome, "Music Lessons" curated by Giovanni Bietti draw more than 1,000 people on Sunday mornings, including many young people and families, to listen to a musician talk about Beethoven's Symphonies or the principles of piano phrasing. In New York City, venues such as Le Poisson Rouge offer live music (of various genres, but always of high quality) every night in a nightclub setting, with a direct and natural convivial relationship between performer and audience, and the gratification is even greater than in a traditional concert hall. Le Poisson Rouge concerts are video-streamed on the Internet and advertised mainly through social networks: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. And it is precisely from the founding principles of Facebook that there is much to learn: share, like, that is, share and common passion. These are the ingredients for a new communication. If this were also done through appropriate television productions of music popularization, spread virally via the Internet, the effect would be even more effective and global.

Returning to the shareable frustration of the many music professionals cut off from the market today, only one wish remains: that they themselves, before it is too late, abandon a self-referential outlook, rediscovering instead the beauty of communicating music at 360 degrees, inside and outside concert halls. In this way, the public can be offered the keys to reading, the codes to better understand music and to discern a great performer from a commercial product: so that quality music, and those who have dedicated their lives to music, are finally given back their proper attention and dignity.

ABOUT RECITAL PROGRAMS

The choice of the program is an aspect of piano recitals still often overlooked or underestimated today, yet there are many interesting considerations that arise from this topic.

Taking a look at the repertoires of early piaano recitals, one realizes that the history of the concert repertoire is full of surprises and paradoxes: through concert hall programs, in fact, it is possible to trace the listening habits prevalent in the past, to calculate the degree of popularity of a given author or piece, and the attitudes of performers of each era to frequent different repertoires more or less frequently. Since the end of the nineteenth century, moreover, the recital has no longer been considered merely as an anthological musical proposal primarily aimed at entertainment or the (often narcissistic) demonstration of the performer's talents, but also as a sign of the performer's interpretive consciousness (at least in cases where programs are chosen by him and not imposed by organizers or external circumstances).

It is understood, even today the spectacular and dramaturgical intent is (thankfully!) present in the piano recital (or at least in the good intentions of the concert performers). But often, alongside this, there emerges a propensity to want to direct the listening to certain aspects of the music performed, through the careful selection and arrangement of the various pieces. The potentialities of program composition are almost infinite; undoubtedly a particular selection of pieces exerts a considerable influence on audience reactions, sometimes proving decisive in decreeing the success or failure of a pianist's career. It will be useful, therefore, to observe how today's pianists express different approaches of program composition. These can indeed be schematized into various categories, keeping in mind, of course, that like all schematizations this is only an explanatory simplification, and not an exhaustive description.

1. "Traditional" programs. The traditional layout still represents the most common and normal attitude in composing a concert program. The custom has been, from the 1950s to the present, for the recital to include pieces with a total duration of between 60 and 90 minutes, chosen and arranged according to certain precise clichés: the arrangement of the pieces usually follows chronological order, and the concluding piece is selected (and often performed) in such a way as to trigger considerable applause. This involves choosing pieces with a particularly brilliant and spectacular ending, or works of great formal grandeur and long duration, so that the concluding applause is fueled (in addition to relief at the end of a long and demanding listening session) by the audience's admiration for the pianist who has tackled a work of special difficulty.

The "tradition" also tends to relegate contemporary pieces to a secondary and optional role, and in any case by preventing them from usually exceeding the duration of a few minutes. A "typical" traditional recital is the one crystallized by the ministerial programs related to the piano diploma examination in Italian conservatories. These are dictates dating from around 1920, so much so that, for obvious reasons, composers of historical importance, such as Stockhausen, Boulez, Ligeti, Cage, Feldmann, Berio, are not even named! On the basis of these ministerial programs, however, many Italian pianists still construct, in addition to (as a matter of course) their examination program, much of their recitals. They thus begin with a piece by Bach or a sonata by Beethoven (more rarely Mozart or Schubert), continue with Romantic pieces (Schumann, Chopin, Brahms, rarely Mendelssohn), and end with sonatas or virtuosic pieces by Liszt, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff (whose second sonata is much more performed than the first), Scriabin, Ravel, Strawinsky. The latter's Trois Mouvements de Petrouchka, together with Liszt's Mephisto-Walzer, with Brahms/Paganini variations, Rachmaninoff's second sonata and Prokofiev's seventh, represents, then the most predictable and overused concluding piece for young, newly graduated pianists.

The above scheme undoubtedly has its own coherence, and, if used intelligently, allows for the construction of effective and enjoyable programs. However, the potential of program choice is much greater when the pianist acquires greater freedom in selecting and juxtaposing pieces, even abandoning the old-fashioned criterion of chronological order, and offering music that is more rarely heard.

2. "Monographic" programs. More and more pianists are aiming at a compact and organic proposal of pieces united by the same element, to expunge all stylistic and poetic aspects. There are several subcategories of monographic programs, depending on the element at the center of the monograph.

2.1. Author monographs. The most common type of monographic programs is dedicated to a single author. For pianists, the most popular "monographable" composers are Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann, Schubert, Brahms, and Liszt, whose piano output is so vast as to allow for extremely varied and interesting programs. In these cases, moreover, it is useful for the pianist to choose compositions so as to trace an evolutionary line within the production of a given author. For some composers who have a limited piano output, it is also possible to concentrate the integral in a single monographic concert: an effective operation with various authors of the twentieth century, such as Goffredo Petrassi, Luigi Dallapiccola, Gyorgy Ligeti, and Luciano Berio.

2.1.1. The "Complete Piano Works". A filiation of monographic programs devoted to a single composer is the cycles of "complete" performances of all the piano works by the same composer, usually presented in several close concerts (but sometimes even years apart, especially for the most demanding projects, such as the complete piano works of Beethoven or Schumann). Usually, the "integralist" pianist aims above all to maintain a minimum acceptable level of performance, taking into account possible risks of accidents or approximations, but not renouncing an often unified and complete vision of the style or poetics of a given author.

The use of piano integrals has undoubtedly been encouraged by the spread of discography and has evolved and expanded in parallel with recording techniques. In this regard, it would be necessary to distinguish the tendency to make discographic integrals from the use of offering integrals in concert programs, which are obviously what we are most interested in here. But it is not easy to separate the two: so much so that concert programs are often conditioned by the pianists' recording activity, and sometimes the record companies themselves require them to offer in concerts the pieces they have recently recorded, in order to promote CD sales. The offering of integral performances is also an effective commercial strategy: it forces concert societies to sign up the pianist (with the respective agent) for more than one evening, guaranteeing profitable multi-year collaborations and helping to root that performer's fame and popularity in a given city.

2.2. Monographs by chronological scope. These are programs composed of pieces written in a limited time frame (e.g., 1800 to 1805, or 1840 to 1843, or, better yet, a single year: particularly fruitful for the piano was 1837!). Even better if the chosen period coincides with a particular event, such as the French Revolution, the Franco-Prussian War, Nazism. It is important, too, that the pianist's interpretive consciousness takes advantage of the juxtapositions between the pieces to enhance their differences or to highlight their common elements, but without making the interpretive approach too uniform.

2.3 Monographs by musical genre. In these cases, the interpreter must be careful to give adequate compactness to his or her choice, to let the evolution of the chosen genre emerge clearly, and above all to prevent the listening result from being excessively heavy or homogeneous. Thus, programs that explore the evolution of short forms make more historical sense, so that a large number of pieces from the same genre can be presented: a program of waltzes alone (Schubert, Chopin, Brahms, Scriabin, Ravel) or of nocturnes alone (Field, Chopin, Martucci, Fauré, Bizet, Debussy, Tchaikovsky, Scriabin, Rubinstein, etc.), for example, works perfectly, provided that slow nocturnes are alternated with more animated ones. More rare, but just as interesting, are programs devoted exclusively to less popular genres, such as the ballad (e.g., Chopin, Brahms, Gottshalk, Fauré, Franck, Debussy, Grieg), the scherzo (Mendelsson, Schubert, Chopin, Martucci, Reger, Sharwenka), the barcarole (Mendelssohn, Chopin, Fauré, Granados, Moskowsky, Rubinstein), the elegy (Liszt, Busoni, Paderewsky). Even more sought after are the programs devoted to decidedly rare genres, such as, for example, the dithyramb (and here, as far as I know, we have only Tomašek and Medtner). Unconscionable, finally, are the programs composed only of tarantellas, or boleros alone, or similar over-characterized pieces: they correspond (as Piero Rattalino observed) to a lunch menu consisting only of candied fruit or dried fruit!

2.4. Other types of monographs. The criteria that can bring together the most disparate pieces in a monographic program are almost infinite. Thus, it often happens that one hears music that is apparently distant, but united by certain harmonic, melodic, rhythmic, formal parameters, or more explicitly linked by belonging to the same style, or simply by the proximity of the respective tonalities. Going further in this direction, it is still possible to juxtapose music on the basis of commonalities of cryptic elements (such as, for example, all the pieces based on the name B.A.C.H. ), of meta-musical themes (affinities with pictorial, philosophical or literary currents) or extra-musical ones (such as water, fire, travel, wine), or even of enigmatic or numerical elements, completely unrelated to musical content (pieces with the same opera number, or composed in the same place, or by composers whose names begin with the same letter: Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Berio, Britten, or Cage, Crumb, Cowell, and. ..you name it!). As in the other cases, it is clearly not enough to rely on a single affinity of the various pieces (especially if this is unrelated to the exquisitely musical content) to be sure of having composed an organic and convincing program.

3. "Comparative" programs. A complementary (but not necessarily "opposite") category to that of monographic programs are the "comparative" ones: these are recital (and consequently, more rarely, discographic) programs constructed in such a way as to alternate music belonging to distant styles, composers or poetic environments, yet somehow united by certain elements. The intent is evidently to stimulate a new perception of the proposed pieces through the close listening of different sound worlds. It is normal, after all, that even an architectural figure or a film appears in different forms, depending on the emotional or physiological situation in which the viewer finds himself. This is also the case with music: almost never is the audience in a utopian state of listening virginity. On the contrary, each individual listener brings with him or her his or her own background and sensitivity, which greatly affect the results of musical perception. Hence originates the success of so-called "crossover" programs, in which, for example, a Chopin nocturne can introduce the listener into the right atmosphere for a Ligeti study, making it "sound" much richer in emotional content, and highlighting its links with Romantic piano production.

With comparative programs, it is thus possible to offer pieces that are difficult to listen to (for example, by some contemporary composers), emphasizing their emotional suggestions, so as to make them "digestible" even for an audience of non-"insiders." For the performer, combinations of this kind are also particularly effective, as the reading benefits greatly, being fresh and innovative and removing the risk of a routine performance.

Conclusions. Beyond these schematic categorizations, there are some simple rules, dictated mainly by the good taste (and common sense) of those who construct a recital program, so that it does not come across as unbalanced, or too heavy, or too homogeneous for the listener. The tonality of each piece affects the perception of the preceding and following pieces; presenting a concert with all the pieces in the same tonality risks being a bad idea: like a house furnished only with blue objects! Tonalities express interesting harmonic attractions, so this potential can be exploited to create a special tension between the different pieces on the program.

Finally, Rattalino's comparison with a restaurant menu is useful to realize the balance that a program must have: for example, a concerto with Beethoven's Hammerklavier sonata and Liszt's sonata in B minor corresponds to a menu with a 400-gram steak "alla Fiorentina," followed by another meat dish of the same size: the consequence will be a difficult and troubled digestion, especially for the "dish" served for second!

It is effective, on the contrary, to have a program with only one main piece (the main dish), flanked by other pieces that go well with it, and that enhance its value, even through flavor contrasts: just like a good "appetizer" and an appropriate side dish. And the dessert? That, too, must be chosen carefully: an "encore" can embellish in retrospect the previously heard program, but, if chosen poorly, can make the whole meal indigestible!

COMPETITORS OR MUSICIANS?

International music performance competitions are undoubtedly an important testing ground for a young performer: these are crucial opportunities to measure oneself against the stage, to be heard by a large and qualified audience, and, in the best of cases, to undertake a rewarding concert activity. It is natural, then, that most music students consider preparing for major competitions as the main goal of their work. It is worthwhile, then, to analyze the widespread approach of young performers toward competitions in light of the real needs of the concert world, which do not always coincide with the prerogatives necessary for winning a competition. Today it is no longer enough for a musician to win a major first prize in order to be certain of entering (let alone maintaining) a real, stable concert profession. And sometimes even four or five first prizes are not enough: competitions may offer large sums of money, numerous concerts even in prestigious venues, but the glory tends to wear off within a few years (usually until the next winner is proclaimed), if the winner does not have all the right cards to face real concert life. What, then, are the qualities that a career musician must possess? To realize this, one only has to look at what the current great performers are. In addition to talent and culture (which are, of course, the minimum prerequisites), they for the most part possess extraordinary versatility, that is, they are able to perform many recital programs in a few days, often alternating between solo and chamber work. Large agencies tend to cast a young talent in an often brutal manner, scheduling a large number of major concerts in close days. Sometimes the slightest nervous breakdown is enough to jeopardize a career. Ergo: even intense concert activity requires nerves of steel. They need to be roughed in and trained regularly, and the experience of competitions alone is not necessarily enough, not least because it is a different kind of stress. Almost never in a competition is it required to learn a new piece in a few days, or to prepare a concert or recital program in a very limited period: situations, these, that often happen to a concert performer, especially a young person who is asked for a last-minute substitution. But, above all, a true performer absolutely must possess a personal critical consciousness, placing himself or herself in relation to the history of interpretation and civilization: the approach to music is constantly evolving, in parallel with the development of contemporary society and culture.

The repertoire of the true concert pianist: not only "competition pieces"

Another very important characteristic for the success of a concert pianist is the breadth and originality of the repertoire, as well as creativity in the layout of recital programs: it is difficult for those who play exclusively the most well-known and frequently heard music to develop a satisfying career. It is also very stimulating to perform pieces by composers who are only marginally known, even if they are not geniuses like Beethoven or Chopin; or to propose, of the same better-known composers, the less frequently heard pieces as well (and there are indeed many of them, largely victims of unjust oblivion). In this way the role of the performer also takes on a particularly useful popularizing function, contributing to the cultural enrichment of one's society. It is also particularly gratifying for a performer to collaborate directly with contemporary composers: a way of integrating the role of the concert performer into the present moment, debunking the commonplace that "classical" instrumentalists perform an anachronistic profession. Competitions, unfortunately, do not always facilitate such openings at all: on the contrary, they usually prescribe a traditional repertoire, consisting largely of a few cornerstones of instrumental production. While on the one hand this allows for a better assessment of the contestant's performing qualities, thanks also to the comparison with a very vast discography and a long interpretative tradition, on the other hand, in this way the "contestants" will all find themselves with a similar repertoire, often not very extensive, and centered on well-known and inflated music, on the interpretation of which it is very difficult (as well as risky, in the competition!) to add some new element. The need to refine instrumental preparation as much as possible often leads them to concentrate their study on those few "workhorses" (sometimes these are the same pieces for over ten years) to show off in competitions, without being able to sufficiently expand their repertoire and, consequently, their cultural background. Of course, it is right for a young performer to tackle the most representative works for his or her instrument, but it goes without saying that a hundred musicians (no matter how good and trained) playing the same pieces will not all find an adequate outlet in concert life. The "contestants" moreover often forego learning pieces that are more rarely heard, for fear that these will be regarded with condescension, if not pitiful hilarity, by some jurors. The candidate who proposes something "original" may indeed give the impression that he or she wants to avoid direct confrontation with "rivals," and thus disguise his or her inadequacy to deal with the traditional repertoire. Instead, precisely those pieces could offer greater success and notoriety to a young musician: after all, the fame of some of today's most successful performers is precisely linked to the originality of their repertoire. Maurizio Pollini himself made his debut with Deutsche Grammophon on a CD devoted to music by Webern, Boulez, Prokofiev and Strawinsky (at that time the Trois Mouvements de Petroushka were not as fashionable as they are today), and he was among the first to regularly present in his recitals music by Schoenberg, Boulez, Stockhausen and Sciarrino. And, taking a step back, it should be remembered that Walter Gieseking linked his name to the popularization of the music of Ravel and Debussy, and Arthur Schnabel would not be so famous if he had not been the first to record all of Beethoven's sonatas and to present in concert the complete sonatas of Schubert, when they were completely unknown to the general public. More recently, stars (though not yet famous in Italy) of the caliber of Marc André Hamelin and Pierre Laurent Aimard have gained success through recordings of composers such as Godowsky, Alkan (Hamelin) and Ligeti (Aimard). And there is still a plethora of compositions waiting for a well-deserved rediscovery, or even a first performance!

Interpretive research

The above is certainly not meant to discourage learning the traditional repertoire. On the contrary, it is precisely from the frequentation of lesser-known music, of "virgin" territories from the point of view of performance tradition, that it is possible to draw a new freshness of ideas, with benèficial effects on the approach to repertoire compositions. And here we come to another salient point: are we sure that competitions encourage in-depth interpretation and the search for new aspects of performance? Judging from the verdicts of many recent international competitions, it seems quite the opposite. Often, as has repeatedly been observed, candidates with more personality are penalized because they destabilize listening: they require greater concentration, a superior effort of adaptation on the part of the jurors, who are not always inclined to question their own ideas, especially when they listen to music for ten hours a day. Instead, competitors who propose more neutral performances, devoid of original or innovative elements, often have an easy time and meet with greater acclaim during the competition, only to quickly disappear from concert life. Awareness of this mechanism unfortunately also influences the preparation of "contestants." How many times teachers warn, "be careful not to overdo it, otherwise they will eliminate you"! In short, the fear of being somehow "attackable" can result in candidates' constant search for a utopian interpretive balance, which in the best of cases results in neutral performances devoid of individuality, and in the worst of cases is synonymous with mediocrity and creative deficiency (which, moreover, can paradoxically turn out to be a "winning" weapon).

Juries

It is evident that the proximate cause of such a mentality is to be found in the composition of juries. Scanning the names of the jurors of recent major international piano competitions, some interesting singularities jump out at us: almost all are pianists, or former pianists, or piano teachers. With few exceptions, conductors, composers and otherwise other non-piano musicians are missing. Why? The justification is quickly given: if the jurors do not know the literature of the instrument they are listening to, they will not be able to judge adequately. But will this really be the case? I think not: indeed, precisely by virtue of an abstract and non-mechanistic view of performance, they may have a perception freer from prejudice and preconceptions. After all, a jury of only pianists in a piano competition may correspond to a jury of only "misses" or former "misses" at Miss Italy selections. It goes without saying that the pianist will judge one of his colleagues with an inevitable, though often unconscious, comparison with himself, his own choices, and his own performance experiences (even worse if the unfortunate contestant is seen as a fearsome rival). Just as a former "Miss Italy" is likely to prefer the candidate who most reminds her of herself as a young woman! The presence of teachers, then, involves multiple conflicts of interest, especially when their own students are competing. And the usual rule of having the teacher refrain from voting for his or her "protégé" is of little use: he or she will always be able to facilitate it by trading votes or by awarding very low scores to the most dangerous rivals. There are, moreover, a dozen or so names (and they are certainly not prominent artistic personalities!) who regularly appear on many of the juries of the most prestigious piano competitions. As it happens, these are often teachers who are also presidents or artistic directors of some competition. These constituents, by inviting each other, determine an unhealthy uniformity, not only in the composition of juries, but also in the selection of prize-winners: those who have already won a competition organized by one of them will certainly be facilitated in winning a second one, thanks to a protectionist policy based on mutual favors, even from a distance.

Art and competition: an acceptable combination?

This is not meant to discourage young people from participating in competitions, far from it. But it is important to live such experiences serenely, to take advantage of mutual confrontation to enrich one's knowledge, without allowing oneself to be negatively conditioned: yes, because there are dangerous long-term effects that the system of competition preparation can generate on candidates. The greatest risk concerns precisely the genuineness and completeness of their musical training. The tendency, nowadays very widespread among young students (and their respective teachers), to finalize study to winning a competition, as if this were the primary objective and the ultimate goal of the educational path, is worrying. Undoubtedly, it is good that a competition can stimulate greater determination in preparation, but often the verdict of the competition becomes more important than the artistic result, with dangerous consequences, both for the winners and the "losers." Winning a prestigious prize can, in fact, fuel the belief that one is a complete artist, causing a decline in performance and interpretive research (a case that is as frequent as ever among first prize winners of international competitions). The habit, then, of studying in function of a competition can generate a real addiction: as if one cannot do without constant external verifications to see one's suitability for musical performance confirmed (or not!). Many winners fail to maintain the same level of quality in their concerts because they lack the stimulus of comparison with other competitors, or with a "fearsome" jury. Elimination from a competition can often result in depression, loss of confidence in one's own means, or at least a natural, but certainly not beneficial, sense of frustration. An eliminated contestant thus runs the risk of obscuring the most genuine and original elements of his or her artistic personality, seeing these as the cause of failure.

Approach the competition as if it were a concert

What, then, must an aspiring concert pianist do to survive this, and to find real professional and artistic satisfaction? First of all, open his eyes. Competitions, it should be reiterated, are very useful to start a career: winning them is better, but losing them does not entail any foreclosure. The important thing is to have a full awareness of one's mission, one's role, and to find a higher gratification in the very pleasure of making music, in the energy and poetry we can discover in it. Especially today, the musical world needs creative performers, rich in imagination, initiative, resourcefulness, curiosity, and above all with the urgency to say something authentic, to make listeners share in a new discovery, in a "truth" to be spread with enthusiasm and sincerity. It is also important not to lock oneself away, but to look around and seek all opportunities to make oneself known and appreciated. And it is not only about competitions: indeed, often a successful record recording or a good audition with an important artistic director turns out to be much more profitable than winning a first prize. Then there are many "enlightened" competitions, which are gradually changing the rules (and juries) to come closer to the real needs of concert life. But what is most important is that the candidate approaches the competition with the mentality of the "concert pianist": and this will be easier the moment he can say something special, unique, that makes him distinguishable from all others.

SELF CONCERT AGENTS

For many up-and-coming musicians, "having an agent" may seem like the beginning of an ideal career phase, in which one can devote oneself exclusively to artistic pursuits, delegating a professional in the field to everything from bookings to concert scheduling and all the more material aspects of one's business. In real life, however, things are different. Even the best agencies, in fact, cannot replace the inventiveness and design drive that only the artist himself is able to provide to his own business. After all, it is sacrosanct that each musician can freely decide on how to direct his or her career, freed from external prescriptions that risk distorting him or her. As is obvious, moreover, agencies often tend to work for musicians who are already well known and "on the career ladder," for whom it is easier to find engagements, moreover with higher profit margins. This is absolutely logical and also right: in fact, it would be out of place to look for in professional agents figures similar to "guardian angels," who with total self-sacrifice and disinterest in the business devote themselves to the promotion of young artists who are not yet known.

What, then, are the alternatives to a traditional arts agency for musicians who wish to perform professionally? Undoubtedly, one of the priorities is to be well aware of one's artistic identity and goals. Who are we? Why did we choose to be musicians? Who do we want to address as musicians? Why should an artistic director choose us over others? A healthy and strict "self-diagnosis" of one's means, strengths and limitations is therefore a good starting point on which to base one's choices. No musician is truly complete: looking at the careers of great pianists or violinists, for example, one can see that they were often able to forge their repertoire and, consequently, their image, by leveraging their strengths, and avoiding music that emphasized weaknesses too much.

Another aspect of great importance concerns the communication of the message we want to express through our performances. Today, communication begins well before the opening note of a concert: in fact, all "public" aspects of our activity contribute to expressing an aspect of our personality. Internet presence, not only through the official website, but also on Youtube, Spotify, and on Facebook and other social media pages, can have a much greater influence on the public than we think, and it is certainly bound to increase in the coming years. Relationships with the public (including those who follow us without our knowledge, as is often the case thanks to social media) are undoubtedly important for disseminating the messages, even not strictly musical ones, that are connected with our activity. All the material that an artist produces, from resumes to photographs, contributes to the construction of an image, and this often risks not colliding with the image that the artist himself or herself would like to express, if there is no proper curation. The role of agent is thus increasingly interconnected with that of PR or press office.

All these aspects fall under what we might call "self-management," and rarely will a traditional agent be able to take care of them. Yet a musician's career and concert activity also depends on them. After all, more and more often artistic directors and organizers of musical events hire musicians whom they have come to know thanks to the Internet, perhaps by accidentally listening to one of their performances on Youtube, and the fascination of a discovery made on their own is much more rewarding for them than one of the many concert proposals that invade their mailboxes every day, and which they may never have time to read carefully.

A GREAT ARTIST IS HIDDEN INSIDE EVERY STUDENT

In my experience as a piano teacher, I have often verified how students can radically, and instantaneously improve, even amazingly, simply by what they think about while playing. Nothing magical, of course; this is just one of many evidences of how our minds can inhibit or liberate our talent.

Quite often, all it takes is to ask an inhibited, or at least tendentially scholastic, playing student to imagine that he or she is a great pianist: for example, to play the same piece while trying to impersonate Vladimir Horowitz. Sometimes, for the more refractory, it is more effective to ask them to caricature Horowitz. Well, it almost always results in a performance that is not only more imaginative and free, but also more intense and coherent, than the previous one. And almost never, in truth, are there too many similarities to Horowitz (an artist, moreover, who is extremely difficult not only to match but also to imitate).

What I have learned from these experiences (which I also sometimes apply on myself) is that our artistic and creative potential very often remains hidden, due to inhibitory mechanisms that lead us to express only a minimal part of our intentions and intuitions. Why does this happen? Perhaps because we tend to focus more on controlling our flaws (thus emphasizing them!) than on the music itself. And if the goal is "not to make mistakes" or "not to produce a bad sound" or "not to overdo the pedal," perhaps we will get the result we set out for ourselves, but that does not coincide at all with our real, overall expressive intention. So it may be enough to "distract" our mind from these inhibiting control mechanisms, for example by forcing it to focus on imitating another pianist, to let our real artistic individuality come out more naturally, and finally unhindered.

Often in my master classes, students do not realize that their "imitation" of a great pianist results in a better interpretation, and they continue to believe that it is, instead, an exaggerated or loaded performance. But all it takes is to record them, and have them listen again and compare the two versions to put them before the real fact.

Of course, I am not claiming that in order to sound better one must always think of oneself as someone else. But this experiment can work as an eye opener: it is a way to discover new artistic potential that has perhaps remained dormant. After all, that is what master classes are for: for each student to find, through confrontation with the outside world, the great artist that is already inside him or her.

THE BEST APPROACH IN A MASTERCLASS

In piano master classes, students have the opportunity to engage with a teacher other than their usual one, who in three or four lessons can give advice and illustrate his or her views on their interpretations. In my "previous life" as a student, I attended dozens of master classes, and I still have vivid memories of some of them, which gave me a special charge to continue my studies by making me discover different ways of understanding music and conceiving interpretation. It is, therefore, a very useful opportunity, but it can be approached in so many ways by students.

Today there is sometimes a mistaken tendency to view the master class as a kind of extended audition. Some students enroll not to learn anything, but to show off their qualities to the teacher, thus more to "show off" than to open themselves to new ways of understanding music. Other students, conversely, approach master classes in an overly passive way, accepting "sight unseen" the teacher's advice, which may not always be perfectly suited to their own way of playing or thinking about music. Based on my personal experience (as a student first and as a teacher later), I believe that the best way for a student to understand the master class is through a free confrontation with different points of view. Of course, it must be taken into account that the lecturer will propose new ideas, which are not always easily and immediately understood and applicable.

It is also possible that the impact with such a different way of conceiving music and the relationship with the instrument may initially cause the student some kind of shock, or deeply question his previous certainties. This is also an effect, usually a positive one, of the master class: it is important for a graduate student, who is about to embark on the path of concert performance, not to take anything for granted, and to find his own personal artistic identity also through confrontation and the realization that there is no one single way of understanding music and interpretation. And the stronger his personal ideas will be, the more convincing and successful they will be, even in the eyes of those who start from different points of view.