In order to attain a high level of mastery on the violin, it is crucial to understand the mechanics of our brains, as many great pedagogues have demonstrated. With this in mind, I wasn’t surprised when I uncovered a commonality between Ivan Galamian’s Principles of Violin Playing & Teaching and neuroscientist David Eagleman’s latest book, Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain.
Both texts bring out an explicit fact: our brain is jam-packed with antics and we are completely unaware that we are the subject of its pranks.
Why is it that when we hear a recording of our own voice, or of the “voice” we develop through the violin, we are taken aback with astonishment that the sound is not what we expected...or wanted?
Galamian coins this as subjective listening. We feel as though we are hearing the sound correctly, but our wishes and expectations covertly mask the actual sound being produced. Our brain persistently conceals the reality of our interactions with the world to make everything more rewarding. While this may help combat self-hate, for a violinist it can be incredibly detrimental to advancement. The squishy organ in our head will gladly tell us we are in tune and intime even when we are not. Eagleman illustrates this phenomenon in relation to hearing, sight and time perception. He also points out that these seemingly straightforward devices we use throughout our lives to interpret the world are mere constructions of our brain.
So how can we possibly defeat something so innate? Well the good news is, as Galamian tells us, we can train our brain to hear more objectively. It’s not easy business, but there is a reason violin teachers have always stressed the importance of using a tuner and a metronome in daily practice. Recording yourself frequently is another way to catch mental mishaps. But these devices alone will not save you from the toils of your brain.
There are three key areas Galamian points to, which need to be addressed every time we practice: building time (technicality), interpreting time (musicality) and performance time (complete run through of a work or passage as if you were in front of an audience). But this is just the start. How can we use our brain power more effectively during these stages of our practice?
When the unconscious majority of our brain is allowed to mechanically regurgitate notes, our conscious mind (the area of our brain we converse with regularly) becomes free to wander to beaches and meadows. Typically we refer to this as auto-pilot mode. In this instance, our mistakes go unnoticed and the music becomes stored in the unconscious area of the brain, as is. If practiced repeatedly in this manner, the errors will inevitably come back to haunt us.
Here’s the problematic part: do the great virtuosos turn off their conscious mind when they perform? Eagleman makes the point that in athletics, fastball hitters and world cup tennis players don’t have time to consciously think about the moves they make. All of their motions and reactions have been tediously stored in the unconscious area of their brain during practice. When it’s game time their conscious self is better left on the sidelines. Similarly, the pro golfer is at a disadvantage if he becomes overly analytical. The unconscious area of his brain has stored the motions necessary to execute the perfect swing, leaving his conscious clueless and confused as to how he actually does it.
As violinists, our practice environment is quite different from the actual performance scenario. But if we envision the performance space and audience, we can train our brain to shut out the conscious chatter and instead allow ourselves to enjoy the music we have spent hours conscientiously cramming into our unconscious mind. If you’ve ever found yourself saying, “whoa, what are my fingers doing?!” during a performance, then you can recall all too well how this lead to unfortunate blunders.
With repeated scrutiny, our conscious awareness can learn to listen effectively and overcome the urge to relay false information to the unconscious storage systems that make up the majority of our brain. Also, by making performance time an integral part of our daily routine, we can train ourselves to resist unnecessary conscious babble and convey the music with finesse. Remember, the first step to improving your brain (and ultimately, your practice) is acknowledging its shortcomings.
Walk down the practice room hall at a music school and you’re sure to hear someone practicing with the metronome pulsing loud and clear. “Good for them!” is your initial reaction. But then you stop to listen and notice they are ahead of the beat. In this instance, you are perplexed by their inability to play on the beat when they can clearly hear it. Having noted this, you may find yourself making the same mistake in your own practice.
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