One of the hardest things to do in teaching is trying to convey an experiential thing to someone who’s never experienced it.

Most of the time, the solution is to resort to analogies.

For example, if I want to describe what it feels like to be in Houston to someone who’s never been to the city, I’d try to draw on the person’s other experiences.

So if the person has never been to Houston but has been to San Antonio, I would say Houston’s like San Antonio except it’s perhaps twenty times bigger and the traffic is a lot crazier. (This is just an example, and not to be taken literally.)

Analogies help but there’re still some things that are almost impossible to describe in words.

One of them is the sensation at the fingertips when you play.

In describing the sensation of release at the fingertips, over the years, I’ve used the analogy of letting go an arrow. I’ve also called it a snapping action but that too seems inadequate.

In actual teaching situations, I’ve found it helpful to perform the plucking action on the student’s hand. This way, they could physically feel the relaxation and the release at my fingertips.

There’s one thing however that eludes me and I’m sill trying to find the best analogy.

This is the ‘engine’ at the fingertips when you play.

This is the sensation of all the fingers working together at the fingertips, each one setting the next one off.

The engine is the unseen element in the super economical efficient right hand stroke I’ve described before.

In an earlier post, I’ve even tried to illustrate the efficient stroke with videos, but the videos do not show one thing and that’s what’s going on within the fingers.

So I’ll try to describe the sensation again.

The sensation is of the fingers working together as one unit, like an engine.

In a simple arpeggio, one finger will activate the string in a quick letting go of the string, like that of letting go an arrow. (When you let go an arrow, there’s a complete release of tension in the letting go. That’s the sensation at the fingertips, a complete letting go of all tension.)

The activation is not simply the finger pushing through the string.

The tension and resistance of the string is very much involved.

The finger comes into contact with the string, feels the resistance, there’s a sensation of slight give at the fingertip and then the finger snaps through the resistance.

The action of release is almost like falling out of balance.

This sense of ‘falling’ is immediately counteracted by the next finger in an action that is directly set off by the motion in the first finger.

The second action is a direct consequence of the first; it’s triggered by the letting go of the first action, the ‘falling.’ So it’s not an independent action occurring in isolation. It’s directly tied to the first action.

In past writings, I’ve used the word ‘propelled’ to describe the sensation of one action setting off another.

To continue the arpeggio, the second action immediately sets off the third finger in the same way and in this way, energy is seamlessly transferred from one stroke to the next to the next.

Think of the series of actions as all interlinked together in one automatic chain reaction of actions.

One action sets off another and another and the actions are all occurring at the fingertips which means there’s very little motion.

At one level, you can describe the sensation as consolidation because you’re playing a series of notes in one quick action, but consolidation in itself does not fully explain the forward propelling motion at the fingertips.

Some will say it’s planting and preparation. But the word ‘planting’ has a static quality whereas the sensation in this forward moving mechanism is dynamic.

It’s very alive, you feel as if the fingertips are charged with a special kind of energy that’s constantly powering you forward.

With this engine powering you forward, notes ripple effortlessly and because it’s all based on release, you can sustain it over long periods without any loss of stamina.

So will the above description help in conveying the experiential sensation?

At this level of description, it’s just information of course.

But information can be useful if it gives you some pointers on what to expect, what to look out for.

And this is the only reason for trying to convey it.

The key in practicing is that when you experience a breakthrough, when you suddenly understand a technique at the experiential level, try to remember the sensation in your fingers, especially at the fingertips.

You’ll find that there’s a special sensation when you’re able to perform the technique.

Because the thing with breakthroughs is that, you may have a breakthrough one day and then lose it the next.

By trying to remember the sensation, you’ll be able to recapture that sensation and replicate that breakthrough again.

As a teacher and player, I have always understood the difference between information and knowledge.

To put it in another way, information is the proverbial finger, knowledge is the moon.

Good information will help point you to the moon but it is in itself, not the moon.

This is important to know in any search for mastery and wisdom.

Because sometimes, in our search for mastery, we could get carried away by an obsession with information to the detriment of knowledge.

The key difference between information and knowledge is that knowledge is experiential.

For instance, you may want to find out how a certain player achieves a certain technique.

So you analyze his movements, you derive certain principles about how he does what he does.

All this is information. You’re gleaning information from his playing. But that information in itself is useless because you’re physically still not able to do what he does.

All that information hasn’t translated into real technique at your fingertips.

But suppose you’re fired up with what you discovered, and you practice hard on those principles. You try to emulate what you’ve learned.

And if what you’ve gleaned is correct, one day, you’ll begin to start experiencing a change in your playing. There’s a new sense of confidence. Speed is rippling effortlessly from your fingertips.

That information has translated into knowledge.

You “know” how that information actually works at an experiential level.

To give another example, over the past summer, I decided to rent a car and drive around Germany.

To prepare for the trip, I gathered information on traffic rules in Germany; I went to many online forums and read up on driving on the autobahn.

So I had a lot of information when I arrived, but the minute I drove out from the airport in Frankfurt, it was a complete shock. Nothing had prepared me for the actual experience of actually being on a German road.

It was as if all the information that I had acquired were useless and they were.

But after a few days of actual driving, I began to understand how to navigate my way through the bewildering signs and lanes.

The only way I acquired this knowledge was through doing, through experiencing.

Information is important. I’ve spent a good deal of time trying to acquire them from different sources.

I’ve studied the great players, I’ve read many books, I’ve listened to many good players and learned from them, but at the end of the day, all that information is useless if I didn’t apply them.

So it’s important to move from information to knowledge, and the only way to do that is through experiencing, through practice.

The problem with information is that sometimes, people mistake them for knowledge.

And this often leads to territoriality. Because all they have is information, and they lack experiential knowledge, they tend to guard their particular information jealously and will defend it to the death (figuratively).

This is another difference between information and knowledge.

People with knowledge tend to be less defensive. They understand that at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what the information is.

Because information is just the means to the knowledge, the finger pointing at the moon.

If you already have the moon, why worry about the finger at all?

You might have guessed that I’ve been busy working on my ongoing project.

Here is a little scale study I learned from a Paco de Lucia interview. While the interview was going on, he was twiddling his fingers with this scale and saying something to this effect, that he had to practice because he was “not very fast.” That last part has to be the understatement of the year.

No, haven’t gotten to his speed yet but the basic fundamentals are there.

 

A new recording of the Scherzo from Tomas Damas’ “Amor Paterno.” I had erroneously attributed the work to Francisco Tarrega earlier. Thanks to Marcos Villanueva for pointing it out to me.

I spent a few years in Boston and during that time, wrote a number of songs. Mostly improvisations that eventually coalesced into songs.

This was one of those improv. Someone posted it on youtube and created a montage to go with it.

Here’s the montage, with thanks to gapir1.

A few years ago, my good friend and colleague at the university, Dr Flores, asked me if I wanted to play the Aranjuez with his orchestra. I was reluctant at first, knowing it would be a lot of work.

But the idea intrigued me, especially as I have always loved Paco de Lucia’s recording, so I decided to say yes and use it as an opportunity to relearn the work and study Paco’s approach at the same time

That summer, I spent the whole summer reworking the concerto, trying to figure out Paco’s fingerings. This I was able to do with his video, thanks to youtube. In spring the following year, I performed it with the university orchestra.

I had put in a great deal of time on the project and was able to figure out most of Paco’s left hand fingerings—I would say at least 85% of it was Paco’s fingerings. This includes all his revisions of the part too. About 10% were from John Williams, another idol of mine, and the rest were mine.

Having figured out the left hand fingerings, I decided that I would also try to replicate Paco’s right hand fingerings, which means using traditional two-finger scales instead of the three-finger scales I had been using.

The decision was also musical. Three finger fingers may be ideal for Bach but they just do not capture the spirit of the punchy picados of flamenco players.

One thing led to another. After the performance was over, I decided that I would try to explore Paco’s picado technique more fully.

Partly it was because I found I had lost some speed in two finger scales. The years of playing three finger scales had spoiled me. As the old saying goes, ‘use it or lose it.’ Luckily the scales in the Aranjuez were not crazy fast.

And partly, because Paco’s picado technique had always fascinated me.

But with all the repertoire that I had to learn in my younger days, I was not able to pursue it as much as I would’ve liked. (I did however work my two-finger scales up to quite a respectable speed and even wrote an article for Mr. Clinton’s magazine, where I mentioned Paco as being one of my great influences.)

I put the project on hold as I was working on a few things but last summer, I finally threw myself into the new project. The objective was not to aim for Paco’s incredible speed although that would be nice. My goal was to try to discover the secret behind that special effortless picado and apply it to my classical playing.

And what I’ve discovered is truly amazing.

Paco’s picado is a combination of factors, all of which have to be present and working together.

(A disclaimer: I wouldn’t claim that I fully understand all the intricacies of Paco’s technique. What I have derived is an interpretation of what I’ve seen and heard in his recordings and videos.)

I’ll be describing what I discovered in greater detail later but suffice it to say that it involves all the major elements described in the AOV.

First, the concept of grouping. To get speed, grouping notes together is crucial. This was probably the hardest one to figure out. Grouping is easy in arpeggio playing where a few fingers are involved, but how do you do it with only two fingers? The answer turned out to be quite surprising.

Next is economy. This is easy. The trick is to focus your playing on the fingertips, just like free strokes. When you focus your strokes at the fingertips, economy happens automatically.

But how do you get that punchy sound if you’re moving with so little motion?

Through the concept of creating power from the release of energy rather than by exerting more energy. I had explained this in the chapter on rest stroke in the AOV for guitar too, where you focus on the plucking rather the resting.

And finally to focus on the preplaying rather than the plucking. In other words, to focus on getting to the strings rather than the actual playing. This too I had described in the AOV for guitar.

One of the most perplexing things about Paco’s picado technique is whether he played from the knuckle joints or the middle joints.

From the way he holds his fingers, it would appear that he’s playing from the middle joints, but my discoveries point to a complex situation where the whole finger is involved.

Perhaps another way to understand this is to ask yourself this question; when you walk, do you walk with your hips or with your knees or with your feet?

Obviously all the joints are involved. And that’s true of Paco’s picado technique. All the joints are involved.

The big knuckles have to hold the fingers in place; otherwise the finger would collapse and flatten out. They also have to push in to create that grouping effect, but the tip joints are also clearly involved in the plucking to produce that super economy of movement.

The big question is, will you be able to get Paco’s speed with this approach?

The approach is so economical and efficient that it’s conceivable that with practice, you could get to quite a good speed but speed is a side issue. More important is the extreme economy and efficiency behind the technique.

So when did I play the Aranjuez? I’ve forgotten which year it was exactly.

But the day after I performed the concerto with the orchestra, I woke up to find that my great idol had passed on the night before. In fact, fifteen minutes before I went on stage to play his version of the Aranjuez. Which made my tribute to this great master all the more poignant.

Lately, I’ve been trying to write the new AOV chapter on energy and it seems the more I look into it, the more complex it looks.

I know there’s something going on at the fingertips but what exactly it is is hard to pin down.

I’ve called it an engine, I’ve referred to momentum, I’ve talked about economy, and written about focusing your movements right at the fingertips.

All these are important factors in speed, but there seems to be one component that’s still missing.

And that is what’s actually going on in the fingers and between the fingers.

As I play, I can definitely feel an interaction between the fingers to produce the effortless driving energy at the fingertips.

The best way to describe this sensation, this interaction is the ‘engine.’

As I examine it, it’s clear that there’re two basic components to this engine.

The first is circular motion.

Part of the problem with speed is sustaining it.

Yes, you can practice ballistic movements and maybe you can pluck that one note really fast but to continue to play a whole series of notes fast is something else.

This is because to sustain speed in a series of notes, you need to maintain the energy level throughout those notes.

The key is circular motion.

A circle has no beginning and no end. Once you get into a loop, you’ll be able to continue it indefinitely. This is why it’s so effective in maintaining speed and energy.

But how do you accomplish this circular motion?

You can try to do it through conscious effort, by consciously forcing the fingers to follow a circular trajectory.

But that’s ineffective because you can’t micro manage your fingers at high speeds.

The better way is to develop a finger movement that will produce the circular motion automatically and naturally.

What I’ve developed over the years is a plucking action that feels more like pulling, and in a direction that is upward rather than inwards.

(In rest-strokes, it would be more across the strings than upward.)

To perform the stroke, draw your fingers upward, almost like a stroking action.

(I’ll do a video to illustrate this soon, but for now, I’ll try to explain it as best as I could.)

When you pluck the finger upward, it will automatically produce the first half of the circle. The other half is when you bring the finger down to play the next note.

The pulling upward action is not obvious visually. It is felt only by the player. To someone watching, it would appear as if you’re plucking the string normally.

But that’s only in one finger.

What happens if you have to play multiple fingers in a quick sequence of notes?

This is where it gets interesting.

The circular trajectory occurs not only in the individual fingers, but in the entire finger cycle and pattern.

I’ll explain this with the tremolo.

The standard tremolo involves a pattern of thumb and three fingers, ‘a’, ‘m’ and ‘i’. We’ll forget the thumb for now.

When you play with the pulling action, each finger would be moving in a circular trajectory.

As soon as the finger plucks, the circular trajectory in that finger would seem to stop, and it would hover suspended in the air while the plucking/pulling pattern shifts to the next finger.

But the circular motion never actually stops; it simply gets transferred to the next finger.

When the ‘a’ finger has finished plucking, the circular trajectory is continued in the ‘m’ finger, and then the ‘i’ finger after that.

So if you look at the totality of the ‘a m i’ pattern, the circular trajectory actually continues through the fingers.

The second component is the sensation of the energy within the fingers.

This energy is dynamic. It’s very driven.

The energy is first created with the first stroke. That first stroke should produce a burst of energy. You can feel this energy being transferred to each succeeding finger, almost like a relay.

It feels like you’re playing one finger off another. There’s a strong sense of interaction between the fingers and it’s all occurring at the fingertips and tip joints.

Imagine the fingers like interlocking parts of an engine, like the pistons in an engine, going up and down, each one setting the next off. As soon as one moves, the next one is already kicking into gear, and then the next, and the next.

This is the reason why playing at the fingertips is so crucial to speed.

Yes, it produces automatic economy, but more than that, it engages the fingers as a unit and enables them to work off each other.

First, a short explanation.

The engine is the mechanism in the fingers that enables you to produce speed effortlessly, without having to force it.

What do I mean by forcing?

It means trying to move the fingers as fast as possible individually.

Forcing may work to a point, but it takes too much effort and the inherent tension will cause you to choke eventually.

By tapping into the engine, it is relatively easy to get all the speed you need with effortless ease, which means there’s minimal tension.

So what is this engine?

It’s making the fingers work together so that they work as a unit.

First, consider the actions involved in plucking one note.

1. You bring the finger to the string.
2. You pluck the string.
3. Your finger follows through.
4. You bring the finger back to the string for the next stroke.

That’s just one note.

To play a series of notes, you’ll have to repeat the sequence for each note, which means we’re looking at performing up to 40 actions if we have to play ten notes.

Now, instead of thinking 40 actions, think one action.

When you do this, there’s a continuous flow of energy from one action to the next.

And here’s an important point—each action becomes a springboard to the next.

As you perform action 1, your finger is already moving to action 2, and as you perform action 2, your finger is already moving to action 3 etc.

Within the actions, there’s a sensation of constant forward motion, each action driving to the next

This forward driving energy is crucial. Not only do you have to perform the actions as one, you must also fill your actions with an energy that’s constantly propelling itself forward.

To use the idea of the springboard—each action becomes a springboard to the next.

Because all this occurring at the local level, at the points of actions, it automatically produces very small economical movements at the fingertips.

This technique not only works for the right hand (plucking hand), it also works for the left hand especially in playing hammer-ons and pull-offs.

Let’s say you have to play four slurred notes—f g f g on the first string.

Here, there’re three left hand actions after the right hand has plucked the first f.

1. LH third finger hammers down on g.
2. LH third finger pulls off to f.
3. LH third finger hammers on g again.

Now, instead of thinking three separate actions, think of one action.

This one action goes from hammer onto g, pulls off to f, and then hammer down on g again.

All done in one continuous flow of action,

Now here’s the critical part, as the finger pulls off to f, feel it physically moving back to hammer down on g.

In other words, within the pull-off is the energy to bring it back to the next hammer-on.

To summarize, the engine comes down to one thing.

Constant and continuous flow of energy.

Supported by an aggressive and forward driving flow of energy.

From one action to the next, you’re constantly moving to the next and the next.

When you’re able to create this flow of energy, your fingers feel as if they’re self powered, like an engine working effortlessly.

All this is working beneath the surface, all hidden from view. Only the player knows what’s going on.

To the observer, it would appear as if the player is possessed of a magical source of energy.

But there’s nothing magical about it. It’s the result of years of practice. Practice that enables one to understand the body completely and make it work with maximum efficiency.