Time-Travel For Pianists: 
How Today’s Players Can Learn  
From Yesterday’s Instruments 
D A V I D  B R E I T M A N  
About Instruments 
DIFFERENT KINDS OF MUSICIANS HAVE diferent relationships with their instruments. Singers are at one extreme: they have a life-long commitment to the one they are born with. And organists are 
at the opposite extreme: whenever they play, they must come to terms with 
the unique qualities of the instrument they fnd. Organ actions — whether 
mechanical, pneumatic, or electrical — difer tremendously; every instrument 
ofers a distinctive collection of sounds, and each is tailored to the space it’s in. 
Te choices made by the builder give every organ its own relationship to the 
repertory: it will inevitably be more suited to some styles than others — and, if it’s 
a good instrument, it will have something to teach the player about those styles. 
Te pianist’s situation is in some respects similar to the organist’s. With 
rare exceptions, we don’t carry our instruments around, so we, too, are at the 
mercy of whatever instrument we fnd. However, a strange thing happened in 
the piano world over the past hundred or so years: piano-making converged 
on a single design, so that all modern pianos are extremely similar.1 Of course 
they vary in quality, depending on how they were built and how they have been 
maintained; but, in principle (to exaggerate only slightly), all are made to be 
as much like the great Steinways of the 1930’s as possible. Performing style for 
all repertories has evolved to take advantage of the particular strengths (and 
weaknesses) of these instruments, and those of us who have made a specialty of 
performing on pre-Steinway pianos know very well how much adaptation was 
involved:2 we have experienced this process in reverse, by rediscovering how 
1  O f course there are diferences between a Fazioli and a Bösendorfer, or even between a New York 
Steinway and a Hamburg Steinway, but these fade into insignifcance when compared with the 
diferences between a Walter of 1795 and a Pleyel of 1840 — or even between that Walter and a 
contemporary Broadwood, or the Pleyel and a Graf from that same year. 
2  I t’s difcult to know what to call these pianos: fortepiano is the accepted term for instruments like 
Mozart’s Walter, but what about Chopin’s Pleyel? I will refer to “historical” and “modern” pianos. 
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the pieces relate to the instruments for which they were composed. Tanks to 
several decades of concerts, lectures, and recordings devoted to promoting the 
fortepiano, most serious musicians and music lovers have some inkling of this 
as well. Yet, historical pianos remain, for the most part, a curiosity, and very few 
talented young students aspire to play them. 
Tanks to the generosity of Oberlin College, I have been able to devote 
the academic year 2009-10 to exploring a diferent approach to this problem. 
Instead of trying to convince pianists that the only way to perform classical 
piano music properly is to abandon the modern instrument, I want them to use 
historical instruments as research tools to help them learn to play the (modern) 
piano better. (Of course, if they decide to continue playing the old instruments, 
they won’t get any complaints from me!) And thanks to the cooperation of the 
Faculty of Music at l’Université de Montréal, I was able to try out my ideas on a 
group of advanced students in a graduate seminar. 
Te course, entitled “Les instruments d’époque comme outils de travail pour 
le pianiste d’aujourd’hui” or “Period Instruments as tools for today’s pianists,” 
was divided into four separate workshops. each workshop lasted ten days, 
devoted, in turn, to an 1848 Pleyel (original restored by Marcel Lapointe); an 
1819 Graf (copy by Paul McNulty); a circa 1800 Walter (copy by Philip Belt); and 
a 1762 Hass clavichord (copy by Ugo Casiglia). Sixteen Master’s and doctoral 
students participated, all with the enthusiastic support of their teachers.3 In 
fact, the course was under the overall supervision of the head of the piano 
department, Jean Saulnier, who taught the segment of the course devoted to 
Chopin. A note about the order of the workshops: the Pleyel was only available 
to us in September, so we had to begin there. Tis external factor inspired me 
to ofer the segments in reverse chronological order, which, in hindsight, was 
absolutely the best plan. 
l l l
I used the notion of time-travel to set the tone of the course, explaining it like 
this: “If I ofered to take you by time-machine to Mozart’s studio in vienna in 
1785, you’d come along, wouldn’t you? You could have a lesson with him, and 
I’m sure you’d bring plenty of questions. But if I told you that Mozart was going 
3   All sixteen students earned my gratitude for their unfagging enthusiasm and commitment: 
vincent Béland-Bernard, Michel-Alexandre Broekaert, Patrick Cashin, eunice Chen, Carol-
Anne Fraser, Jean-Simon Gaudreau, Julio Gonzalo, Junghwa Hong, Alison Kilgannon, Jonathan 
Kilgannon, ryan Kolodziej, Simon Larivière, Jean-François Latour, Sofa Mycyk, elizabeth 
Schumann, and Marie-Hélène trempe. 
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to be away — we could still visit the studio, play his piano (it’s the Walter that, 
according to his father, was ‘constantly being hauled about for concerts’), look 
over his manuscripts, and experience his surroundings — wouldn’t you still 
take the trip?” 
“Weird and Nice” 
At the end of our frst class, the students were invited to try the 1848 Pleyel. We 
flmed them playing one minute of Chopin on a modern piano, followed by 
the same music on the Pleyel, and then we asked for their immediate reactions. 
(Te students didn’t hear each other.) We met again the very next day, and 
Jean summarized the range of reactions. He began by observing that they could 
be arranged into “two families: ‘weird’ and ‘nice.’”4 Te ‘weird’ category had 
comments like: “I can’t play loud.” “I don’t know how to control it.” “I lost my 
bearings.” In the ‘nice’ category: “I like the sound.” “I can use more pedal.” “It’s 
easier to balance the hands.” 
Afer a few hours of practicing, the students overcame all of the purely 
technical difculties posed by the Pleyel. And with some guidance from us, 
they discovered new strategies for making music on this unfamiliar instrument. 
Signifcantly, much of what they needed to do was actually notated in the scores: 
dynamic indications, pedal markings, slurs, and accents that had previously 
appeared awkward or puzzling now seemed perfectly suited to the instrument 
in front of them. By the end of their time with the Pleyel, each student reported 
some variation of “the music will never look the same again.” As the course 
progressed, the instruments became increasingly unfamiliar, but the experience 
was similar. each instrument eased the transition to the next, with the touch 
becoming progressively lighter, the key-dip shallower, the attacks sharper, and 
the decay of sound quicker. Only the clavichord posed challenges of a diferent 
order, as I’ll explain later. 
Although I was very interested in the students’ adaptation to the historical 
instruments, the goal of the project was to see what they could take back to the 
modern piano. Before the course began, I imagined putting their discoveries 
into three categories: elements that could be transferred directly to the modern 
piano; elements that could be adapted to the modern piano as long as certain 
adjustments were made; and elements that, although undoubtedly well suited 
to the instrument of the composer, could not be applied at the modern 
4  M y translation: since our class was conducted in French, he actually said “bizarre et agréable.” 
t IMe -trAveL  FOr  P IAN I St S   7 7  
piano. Some of the students also thought in these terms. A student who had 
us spellbound with his performance of the frst movement of the Moonlight 
Sonata wrote the following: 
…some aspects [of what we learned from the Walter] are directly applicable to 
the modern piano, [for example] Mozart’s articulations. Other characteristics of 
the period instruments serve rather as a source of inspiration for the player. Te 
sound of the Walter in Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, using the moderator and 
with the dampers lifed throughout, is a perfect example of this situation.5  
Strictly speaking, he is quite correct. One can perform any pattern of articulation 
on either piano, but the modern piano simply doesn’t have a moderator pedal. 
However, this particular student spent the Walter workshop working on 
Beethoven, and his suggestion about Mozart’s articulations wasn’t based on 
his own experience. Compare it with this statement, from a student who did 
struggle with the articulations at the opening of this piece: 
Example 1 Mozart, Sonata in F major K. 332/i 
Many times during presentations, when students attempted to transfer an idea 
directly back to the modern piano, the results were unsuccessful. The thought 
process must arise from an auditory image of how a piece sounds on its intended 
instrument, and from there we can decide what pianistic approach is required to 
express the musical content in keeping with its original conception. 
In his class presentation, this student showed us how, in transferring his 
performance of Mozart’s short slurs from the Walter to the modern piano, 
he chose to alter his tempo, adjust the lengths of notes, and add bits of pedal 
for shading. In fact, as we saw time and again during the course, it’s virtually 
impossible to switch instruments and then do exactly the same thing; some 
adaptation is inevitable. And anything that could not be applied to a performance 
on the modern piano — e.g. the moderator pedal on the fortepiano, or Bebung 
5  T is quotation and all subsequent quotations come from the term papers submitted at the end 
of the semester. 
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on the clavichord — still lef its mark on the students’ imagination, leading 
to what could be considered a form of adaptation. So, as a great believer in 
categories, I now prefer these to classify the students’ discoveries: insights 
that made sense of (previously bafing) indications in the scores; insights that 
related to more general questions, such as confusing information in historical 
accounts or treatises; and new ideas arising directly from the experience of 
producing sound on an unfamiliar instrument. Te new framework refected a 
crucial shif in my understanding: the old instruments did not really teach the 
students how to play diferently, so much as how to think diferently. 
Learning in Action 
Te extent to which the students’ comments refect a common learning 
experience is striking. Observations about the behavior of the historical 
instrument tend to be followed by a description of the strategy adopted at that 
instrument, and fnally the lesson that the student was able to draw from the 
experience and carry to the modern piano. We begin with a student’s refections 
on tempo choice: 
Example 2 Chopin, Étude op. 25, no. 7 
Since the sounds of the Pleyel die away more quickly than those of a modern 
piano, it is necessary to choose faster tempos for slow movements than those 
we have become accustomed to on today’s long-sustaining instruments. It was 
even possible to play this Étude (op. 25 no. 7 in C-sharp minor) at the tempo 
suggested by Chopin, which had always seemed extremely fast to me. At this 
speed the phrasing is more sustained, and the music “sings” more naturally. In 
addition, the shape of the Pleyel’s sounds [la courbe sonore] encourages the use 
of more rubato. 6 Accelerating slightly during the long notes helps to connect the 
6 H alf of the papers were submitted in French; the translations are mine. Te student is referring 
here to the distinctive way the piano’s sound develops: by comparison with a modern piano, the 
Pleyel has a quicker attack, then sustains at a noticeably lower dynamic level. Tis shape seems less 
t IMe -trAveL  FOr  P IAN I St S   7 9  
sounds of the melody, and [because of the faster tempo] it becomes advisable to 
take more time in the more active passages. As a result of the increased speed and 
rubato, the character becomes more tragic and less contemplative, which adds 
to the drama of the étude. … transferring these elements to the modern piano 
was basically fruitful. One can easily increase the tempo, but not to the degree 
possible on the Pleyel, because the character becomes too agitated on account of 
the greater intensity and duration of the sounds. As for the rubato, one should try 
to reproduce it on the modern piano, even though the nature of the instrument 
discourages it somewhat. 
Te next examples concern pedaling. Although the pedal (or knee lever) 
performs the same physical action on every piano — namely raising all of the 
dampers from the strings — the musical results are surprisingly diferent. Chopin 
proved an excellent starting point for us, because his instructions for the use of 
the pedal are extremely precise and complete. Here is a fairly typical example: 
Example 3 Chopin, Impromptu, op. 29. M/198 Fryderyk Chopin Museum at the
Fryderyk Chopin Institute in Warsaw collection. 
Many of the students had never paid attention to these 
indications before, and attempting to follow them scrupulously at the 
Pleyel led to many discoveries. One observation was that Chopin often 
contrasts pedaled and unpedaled sound for structural purposes. But 
because the dampers of the modern piano stop the sound more 
completely than those of the Pleyel, and because the unpedaled sound of the 
modern piano is duller (i.e., contains fewer upper partials), some of Chopin’s 
unpedaled passages — wonderfully effective on the Pleyel — sounded 
unpleasantly dry on the modern piano. Here’s how one student described 
what she learned: 
Having experienced the importance of these contrasts, I now try to imagine the 
sounds that Chopin’s pedal indications would produce on the Pleyel piano and 
then search for a way to achieve a similar efect with the means available on a 
modern piano. Tis usually involves some half-pedaling, partial releases, futter 
bulky, more nimble, hence more susceptible to manipulation. 
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pedaling, and careful control of placement and pedal cuts [releases] in order to 
characterize the overall sound. 
Chopin’s precise directions forced the students to re-examine the largely 
unconscious and virtually constant use of the pedal that characterizes much 
current piano playing. This experience proved valuable when we approached 
earlier music. Here another student describes his relationship to the pedal of 
the Walter: 
Another shock I received from this instrument came from the absence of a 
pedal on the floor. My feet never stopped looking for some kind of support, 
even after ten days of practice! Located above the knee, [the knee lever] seemed 
awkward to use and I rejected it completely. My reading (Sandra rosenblum, 
p. 104) confirmed this instinct: it seems that Hummel and Clementi were in 
agreement that Mozart hardly used the pedal at all. This was very interesting 
for me since I generally depend heavily on this device, even in baroque and 
classical works. I tried the beginning of K. 332/i [example 1, above] making a 
point of not touching the pedal, and to my surprise, found the transition much 
easier to accept than I expected. I quickly realized that there were advantages 
to removing this element. I had to compensate with a clearer, more definite 
articulation, which enlivened the discourse in a way that seemed to me, finally, 
more stylistically appropriate.
 This student also worked on Beethoven’s sonata op. 109, where the question of 
tempo emerged again: 
[At the Graf], I had to increase the tempo of the slow music (adagio espressivo 
sections of the first movement; the theme and variations 1, 2, 4, 6 of the third), 
since the sounds die away so soon after the initial attack. The faster tempo 
allowed for a smoother and more singing style of phrasing, as well as greater 
rhythmic flexibility. Since the dynamic range of the Graf is relatively limited, the 
performer needs to impart more direction in order for the music to have the 
necessary expression… 
After spending a long time reworking the piece following the workshop, I came 
to a number of conclusions. [For performance at the modern piano], I slightly 
increased the tempo of the slow music, especially the adagio espressivo sections of 
the first movement. In addition, I decided on a more improvisatory character for 
these sections, which added a much more expressive dimension. For the theme 
of the third movement, after experimenting with different tempi, I decided that a 
slow tempo with a rich sonority was the most appropriate at the modern piano: the 
sounds are so sustained that a quicker tempo inevitably sounds too passionate and 
t I M e - t r Av e L  F O r  P I A N I S t S   81 
doesn’t breathe. Additionally, I believe that it’s dangerous to play with the rhythm 
too much in the theme, because this makes it too dramatic and agitated… 
Te Graf was an excellent tool for defning my musical concept at the modern 
piano. dealing with elements that were necessary at the fortepiano forced me 
to experiment with ideas that wouldn’t have occurred to me otherwise. It forced 
me to question myself and to search. While keeping or adapting some ideas and 
rejecting others, I remained conscious of other possibilities. Tis was especially 
valuable for me, since I was still in the process of learning the piece during the 
workshop. Finally, the Graf gave me a good sense of the materials and constraints 
facing Beethoven as he composed his last sonatas. 
A student working on a Schubert sonata addressed another critical topic, 
articulation. For many musicians, Schubert’s careful placement of multiple slurs 
is unintelligible, since this passage is normally performed with a smooth legato. 
Example 4 Schubert, A major sonata, D. 664 
[t]he smaller sound and the rapid decay of each note [on the Graf] led me to 
my most signifcant discovery on this instrument. With a less-sustaining sound 
available, it became necessary to build the phrases through a much more detailed 
interaction of smaller shapes, articulated phrase members, and defned rhythmic 
groupings. Trough treatises on articulation and accentuation written by Classical 
theorists, I realized that this level of detail I now found necessary is actually 
required in the score! … [t]he barring and slurring of the accompaniment 
indicates a repeated pattern of two short groups followed by a longer one which 
complements the activity in the right hand by carrying the line forward over 
the long melody note in measure two. Te slurring of the melody emphasizes 
important notes and underlines the metric structure by stressing the beginning 
of each measure with the beginning of a slur. When I respect this carefully 
constructed counterpoint of articulation through shaping and subtle lifs or 
pronunciation of groupings, it becomes clear why “Classical theorists stressed 
the importance of recognizing, shaping, and separating each phrase member”  
(rosenblum p. 163-4). Herein lies the life and essence of the music; these are not 
details to be added later on to the surface of the piece. 
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returning to the modern piano, I fnd that this level of detail remains equally 
important. I had previously neglected it in favour of a long sustained line, an 
approach that now seems superfcial and general and robs the music of its richness. 
However, due to the modern piano’s comparatively massive sound, I need to thin 
the texture by using less pedal (shallower pedaling with more frequent changes) 
and to listen for the defnition of each note in order to allow each group to speak 
and carry its part in the line. 
The Clavichord 
Te clavichord presented new and greater challenges. Although the pianos 
demanded some technical adaptation, every student was able to begin working 
on interpretation virtually immediately. Not so with the clavichord. Te results 
were all over the map: a few students were able to produce musical results the 
very frst time; some still couldn’t play a simple two-part texture consistently 
at the end of the ten days. For most of them, then, this workshop was largely 
focused on the physical aspects of producing sound at the keyboard. Here is 
one student’s description of the experience: 
Trough the direct, light action, I learned to fnd a balance between suppleness 
and frmness, relaxation and presence in every gesture. … I realized how 
important this is on the modern piano as well, yet how ofen I allow myself to 
be inattentive and to distort my gestures, distracted by other aspects of playing. 
Te clavichord would not permit this. I needed to be able to sit supported and 
centered independently from the instrument so that when I touched it to play, my 
gestures could be proportionate and unifed, anchored in a balanced centre rather 
than using the resistance of the action to counter my own physical imbalance. 
A touch too heavy or too light, too short or too forceful would result in a note 
pushed sharp or in no sound at all. I learned to remain present with each gesture, 
with each note as it unfolds. Te clavichord tolerated no alternative; I had to 
remain present and trust that my interior listening would guide each gesture into 
the next in its own time. 
Another student related his experience at the clavichord to the technical 
method taught at l’Université de Montréal, which breaks the playing gesture 
down into three phases: the preparation, the attack, and the “follow-through:” 
t IMe -trAveL  FOr  P IAN I St S   8 3  
[I]f one fails to maintain a certain pressure [on the key] afer the attack, the 
tangent bounces of the string, cutting of the sound, whose resonance depends 
on the tangent remaining in contact with the string for the full duration of the 
note… Te clavichord is unequivocal: a good “follow-through” produces a clear, 
vibrant sound; if the “follow-through” is defcient, the sound dies immediately. 
It’s much easier to discern than on a modern piano, where even a thoughtless 
“follow-through” still produces a normal sound from the instrument. Te 
clavichord helped me practice this gesture, and that’s why I wish I had access to 
one more regularly. Te slower, well-supported “follow-through” demanded by 
the clavichord, when transferred to the modern piano, helps tremendously in the 
development of a rich, connected, projecting sound. 
I introduced them to Griepenkerl’s account of Bach’s keyboard teaching, in 
which short musical fgures (generally two to four notes) form the building 
blocks of keyboard technique. 7  each fgure was to be played with a distinct arm 
gesture, and these same fgures were the basis of exercises in improvisation and 
composition. Of course, viewing the music as a series of discrete gestures rather 
than of individual notes, and using these groupings to organize the motions of 
the arm has a direct impact on interpretation. Some of the students found this 
approach arcane or distracting; others really took it to heart. One student found 
it useful in their interpretation of J. S. Bach’s Prelude in F-sharp minor: 
Example 5 J. S. Bach, Prelude in F-sharp minor, BWV 883i, from WTC 2 
Te idea of rearticulating at the beginning of each motive, i.e., integrating spaces 
— smaller or larger depending on the context — seemed very relevant to me, 
since it forced me to analyze the musical discourse. [Te spaces] enlivened 
my playing, making it sometimes more dance-like, sometimes more dramatic. 
Tis was totally appropriate in my prelude [example 5], since an analysis of 
7   reprinted in Joel Speerstra, J. S. Bach and the Pedal Clavichord (rochester, NY: University of 
rochester Press, 2004). My own understanding of this subject derives largely from Chapter 6 
(“Musica Poetica and Figural Notation”) of this book and from personal communication with 
the author.  
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its constituent elements (expressive leaps, recurrent syncopation, rhythmic 
complexity) revealed more agitation and pathos, rather than the sentimentality 
generally encountered in modern performances of the work. 
Another student, who worked on Bach’s entire Fourth Partita during the 
workshop, went even further: 
Te catalogue of Baroque fgures with their Latin names combined with 
Griepenkerl’s description of how technically to execute groups of notes helped 
me group several notes into one arm stroke. Tis […] simplifed my technique 
by reducing the number of gestures, thus allowing me to play in positions rather 
than a long string of individual notes. Furthermore, I began to phrase the series 
of groupings rather than the line of continuous notes and achieved very efective 
results. Te wide dynamic range and singing tone of the modern piano allows 
one to phrase simply through long legato lines of varying dynamic level. By 
transferring the idea of phrasing articulated groups of notes, however, one can 
achieve much more variety and I believe a more stylistically convincing result. 
[…My] experiences with the other movements of the Partita continued to lead 
me to the same conclusions: note groupings and articulation between fgures is 
imperative not only from a technical standpoint but also from the perspective of 
musical expression. 
Translation 
In attempting to explain my work to non-musicians, I fnd myself turning 
to another metaphor: translation. Foreign literature is translated so that an 
english-speaking reader can gain access to a wider range of material; older 
pieces have been adapted for the modern piano to enlarge our repertoire. In 
both cases, the process can be more or less successful; everything depends on 
the skill and art with which it is done. But in both cases there is nothing quite 
like frst-hand experience with the original. 
the foreign-language metaphor leads me to my concluding point. All of 
us who have studied another language know what an enriching experience 
this is. Not only can we understand texts and conversations in a new 
language, but we also know ourselves better, and express ourselves more 
clearly, even in our mother tongue. And so I shouldn’t really have been that 
surprised to read the following, in a report by daniel Walden, my research 
assistant at Oberlin: 
t IMe -trAveL  FOr  P IAN I St S   8 5  
I have discovered that the tools I acquired during the project have helped me not 
only in my performance of compositions from the Common Practice era on the 
piano, but also of works in compositional styles far removed from the eighteenth 
and nineteenth centuries. […] Stockhausen [for example] requires such unusual 
performance techniques that the pianist must approach the piano almost as 
if it were a new type of keyboard instrument. I was surprised to fnd that the 
techniques I developed in working on Bach at the clavichord as well as Mozart 
and Beethoven at the fortepiano assisted me directly in both the practice and 
performance of the unusual and extended techniques that Stockhausen requires. 
I found that the historical instruments were useful not only in helping to 
develop [interpretations of] music from the eighteenth or nineteenth century 
that seemed more idiomatic, but also led to the discovery of basic principles 
that were applicable more generally to keyboard performance, even to music 
far removed from the soundscape of the fortepiano and clavichord. Simply by 
helping to break a “piano-centric” understanding of the roles of the ear and the 
hand in performance on the Steinway, I was able to establish the foundation for 
developing a variety of new techniques that will [draw] new sounds and timbres 
from the instrument, and which will be useful in the performance of music of all 
genres and time periods. 
What could be more rewarding than to discover that a student found your 
teaching even more useful than you thought! 
One fnal analogy with translation. every generation returns to the classics 
and produces translations for its own time, just as musicians continue to 
perform the classics in ways that refect the style of their time. And just as a 
modern translation cannot be based on earlier translations alone, but requires 
looking at the original text with fresh eyes, today’s musicians should not simply 
react to the interpretations of their predecessors, but rather engage directly 
with the original materials as fully as possible. And, for that adventure, the 
instruments of the past are indispensable. 
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