The Physical Perspective

Those of you who follow me regularly will know that “athleticism” is not a word that appears in my vocabulary. I can’t hit a baseball to save my life, couldn’t do a somersault if you paid me, and have always associated “P.E.” with the words “Physical Embarassment.” Thus, for the majority of my college years, the daily search for a practice room comprised the extent of my athletic endeavors. I assured myself that this lifestyle posed no threats to my health and wellness; after all, I was in college to become a musician, not a pro athlete. Spending my time anywhere other than the practice room seemed a most ludicrous idea.
Ironically, my stubborn aversion to athletics became the subject of criticism one fateful night in my junior year, when I was performing in a masterclass for the renowned cellist Gary Hoffman. It was of course a very prestigious occasion; the hall was packed to capacity with excited string players, and the entire New England Conservatory cello faculty was in attendance. Hoffman had been going on about my bow technique, trying to get me to bow in a more fluid and natural motion. I evidently was not cottoning on, so he decided to literally grab my arm and move it himself. After a couple awkward minutes of this tactic, he looked up at me.
“Gee, you’ve got no muscle here,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you go swimming at all?”
“Er-no,” I stuttered.
“Why not?” he exclaimed incredulously. “It’s Boston–you’ve got the Charles River!”
Needless to say, I was somewhat embarrassed after that class, but still refused to set foot in the local Y (mostly because of the aforementioned priority structure, but partly because I had witnessed some exceptionally sketchy characters going in there). And the Charles was way too cold that time of year.
Recently, however, I have begun to realize that a competency with sports/athletics can prove to be a valuable asset in developing one’s instrumental ability. This epiphany was inspired by my thirteen-year-old brother, an avid basketball player who (perhaps out of pity) took it upon himself to give me some lessons in the sport. I didn’t prove to be a very promising student, but I found the many techniques he demonstrated to be quite fascinating. At one point, after observing I was mainly using arm motion to shoot the ball, my brother encouraged me to explore how the general positioning of my body impacted the movements of my extremities.
“It’s just like playing the cello, Zachary,” he explained. “You have to play with as little tension as possible, not just in your arms, but in your whole body.”
While I doubt my basketball pursuits will extend beyond the family driveway, the parallel drawn by my brother really struck a chord with me, as it echoed many of my prized axioms regarding cello technique. I tell students all the time that, as paradoxical as it may sound, we don’t actually use our hands to play the cello. The hands are of course the direct means of contact with the instrument, but they will do us little good if our arms, shoulders, torso etc. aren’t in a position of optimal support and balance. Yet, for much of the time, we find ourselves paying little attention to them. One of the most influential summer programs I have attended, the National Summer Cello Institute at UW-Madison, focused almost exclusively on this very important aspect of music-making. Its director, UW cello professor Uri Vardi, is an expert in the Feldenkrais method, and frequently applies its principles in his teaching. One of the more enlightening demonstrations of this occurred when Mr. Vardi had a student close one eye while playing a passage, and then play it again with the other eye closed. The two performances were entirely different! I remember leaving Madison that summer thinking that, even if it would take years to apply these concepts to my own playing, simply being aware of my instrumental tendencies would at least be an adequate starting point.
Being aware, of course, is only the first step–the next challenge is knowing what to be aware of, and when. For the cello and related stringed instruments, this type of focus is especially critical when considering the bow arm, which requires a constant, circular motion in the shoulder blades and deltoid muscles of the back. Once when I was discussing bow technique with a colleague in grad school, he mentioned that the best bow arm he’d seen on a student had developed as a result of that student’s swimming experience.
“It’s just like the breast stroke!” she had realized, upon observing that the stroke’s circular motion could be easily applied to bowing.
Months later, I was working with a student of my own who was also experiencing difficulty maintaining this continuous motion of the shoulders. No matter what exercises I prescribed, it seemed, his movements remained jerky and tense. Suddenly, the recollection of my colleague’s story came to me, and then I remembered that my student was in fact a swimmer, as we had to schedule our lessons around his practices. Sure enough, when I asked him to think of the breast stroke motion, it worked beautifully! I was actually astounded at how easily it came to him, and wondered whether I should take Gary Hoffman’s advice after all.
But whether it be a clever integration of swimming technique or development of an acute bodily awareness, it is evident that approaching the instrument from an athletic perspective is vital to the acquisition of advanced technique–an approach that, ironically, we tend to be somewhat ignorant of, as was clearly the case with me. Just as it’s important to be well-rounded and develop extra-musical skills, it seems similarly important to develop non-instrumental physical skills as well. Who knows, maybe that fifth and sixth hour in the practice room might be better spent at the gym–or maybe, the Charles….