For years, my philosophy of piano practice has revolved around one thing: Play the right notes.
I believed that if only I played the right notes, I would be a great pianist someday.
And yet, try as I might, and no matter how much practice time I put in, it seemed like all I could do was play the wrong notes.
I often felt like I was missing some vital piece of information that everyone else magically seemed to have.
Especially in my college years, it seemed like the other pianists were making massive progress while I was stuck, behind, and hopeless.
Something always felt missing.
The feeling that something was missing from my practice has haunted me all these years.
I’ve had long periods in my life when I let the hopelessness take over and have taken months-long breaks from the piano.
But I’ve never completely given up hope that I could, at some point, learn to craft a practice routine which is both effective and efficient.
A routine that goes beyond notes on a page and instead helps me become a more well-rounded musician who creates beautiful music.
This post is an introduction to my journey into creating a philosophy of piano practice that goes beyond the notes.
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We Learn Notes Before We Learn Music
I believe that my foundational belief in the importance of playing the correct notes is common and likely stems from the way we learn music.
Most method books start with the very basics of how to sit at a piano and then start introducing the notes.
We learn C, D, E, F, G, then branch out to B and A, eventually learning the bass and treble clefs and how to move around the keyboard.
But those initial, foundational lessons gravitate around playing the correct notes.
In a sense, we are subtly learning that playing the correct notes is most important.
It’s only natural that we jump to this conclusion, given how much new information there is to absorb when learning a skill as complex as playing the piano.
Our brains might explode if, during our first lesson, our piano teacher asked us not only to play the right notes but also to play them at the correct rhythm, with the written dynamics, at exactly the right tempo, with the best articulation and phrasing.
Although it seems incomprehensible in the early stages, learning to incorporate all these things from the very start of practicing a new piece is exactly the way expert pianists practice.
And yet, we are taught to believe that you start with the foundation, which is learning the notes, and then all that artistic stuff somehow gets piled in at some point.
Even beyond the emphasis on playing the correct notes is the implication that if you simply spend time at the keyboard, you’ll get better.
But as it turns out, research supports the idea that improvement requires a few very specific elements to be meaningful.
My Turning Point
There have been a few challenges in my own journey that have prompted me to further develop my personal philosophy of piano practice.
Use of Practice Time
Looking back, it has always seemed that no matter how consistent my practice was, I didn’t get any better.
When I stepped into the practice room, I had no idea how to use that time.
I often found myself thinking about a range of other topics, from what I was having for supper to what I would do with the rest of my life.
Each practice session felt completely aimless, and I felt uncertain how to make progress.
My Learning Process
Again, no matter how many times I repeated something, it never felt like it “stuck.”
Endless repetitions without significant improvement.
It would take me forever to learn even a simple piece of music.
I had no idea how my brain processed information or what to do to make the information a permanent part of my mental database.
Lack of Consistent Piano Lessons
I studied with a couple of the best teachers available to me throughout my early years and eventually college.
But like many adult students, I didn’t have time to continue lessons after I graduated.
I have taken some lessons here and there over the years, but I always feel like I’m letting the teacher down when I don’t put in the expected amount of practice.
This prompted me to question how I could be my own piano teacher rather than inflict continual disappointment in my lack of effective practice time week after week upon a fellow pianist.
Performance Anxiety
Despite years of practice and performances, performance anxiety continues to plague me.
It’s as if I get in front of people and my mind suddenly leaves the music and starts fixating on the mere presence of people in my midst.
Adding insult to injury are my feelings about how ineffectively my current practice methods prepare me for performance, and it’s no wonder the nerves take over under even the slightest pressure.
In reading posts and talking with other aspiring pianists, it would seem that my challenges are very common reasons people eventually give up on the instrument altogether.
I think it’s only my stubborn persistence that has kept me from jumping ship long ago.
And perhaps my persistence can be your gain as I dive further into this philosophy of piano practice.
The Questions I’m Exploring in Developing a Philosophy of Piano Practice
Over the foreseeable future, these are the broad questions I’ll be exploring.
1. What is practice?
When you boil it down, all my uncertainties at the keyboard revolve around the topic of productive practice.
Rather than focusing on how much time I spend practicing, how can I make that time productive?
And how can I use practice to infuse all the elements of artistry that separate the truly great pianists from the rest?
A few additional questions I have include:
- How can I develop practice as a skill to improve at the instrument?
- What does it actually mean to improve?
- How do great pianists approach practice?
- What are the key elements that make practice productive?
- How can I repeat what happens in the practice room on stage?
2. How does improvement happen?
Why do some practice sessions change everything while others seem to accomplish very little?
How can I improve my information retention?
What is the best way to learn?
For this question, I want to take a deep dive into learning and how it happens most efficiently.
I think one area where improvement derails is in failing to set practice goals because, in order to improve, you must identify the exact thing you want to improve.
Is it dynamics?
Phrasing?
Or conveying the inner meaning of the music?
And how do you approach learning in new ways to make the types of improvements you’re seeking?
3. What should I be listening for?
At the core of practice and improvement is learning to listen critically to music so you can identify the gaps.
Listening plays a vital role in improving as a pianist, but it’s often put by the wayside by aspiring pianists.
It’s much easier, and often more fun, to simply sit down at the bench, play your favorite song, and revel in the experience.
And I’m not saying it’s never ok to practice that way, but it won’t give you the type of feedback you need to improve.
On my quest to improve beyond “Did I play the right notes?” I want to ask questions such as:
- Did the phrase have direction?
- Did I shape the dynamics?
- Could I hear the melody?
- What emotion was I trying to communicate?
4. How do musicians think?
This may be the question I’m most excited about.
What separates musicians who continue growing from those who plateau?
When great pianists encounter a problem, how do they decide what to fix?
How do they hear things that I don’t yet hear?
Can those ways of thinking be learned?
I don’t know where these questions will lead.
But I have a feeling they’ll change not only the way I practice, but the way I teach and write as well.
If you’ve ever sat at the piano feeling like your playing was technically correct but somehow missing something deeper, I hope you’ll come along with me as I search for the answers.
Final Thoughts on My Philosophy of Piano Practice
For most of my life, I believed the goal of practice was to make fewer mistakes.
Today, I’m beginning to wonder if the real goal is to ask better questions.
Instead of asking, “Did I play all the right notes?” perhaps I should be asking, “Did I really listen?” Or, “What was I trying to communicate?” Or even, “What changed because of this practice session?”
I don’t expect to have all the answers anytime soon. In fact, that’s part of what excites me about this series. This isn’t a finished method that I’ve perfected—it’s an ongoing exploration. I’ll be reading books, digging into research on learning and expertise, experimenting in my own practice, and sharing both the successes and the frustrations along the way.
My hope is that this journey helps those of us who have spent years feeling stuck at the piano. If you’ve ever wondered why hours of practice haven’t translated into the kind of playing you imagine in your head, you’re not alone. I suspect the answer isn’t simply more practice. It’s learning to practice with greater intention, curiosity, and awareness.
Perhaps artistry isn’t something that suddenly appears after we’ve mastered the notes.
Perhaps artistry is something we practice from the very beginning.
That’s the philosophy I’m beginning to build.
Not a philosophy centered on perfection, but on purposeful practice. Not one driven by fear of mistakes, but by curiosity. Not one that measures success solely by technical accuracy, but by a growing ability to hear, understand, and communicate music more deeply.
If that sounds like the kind of pianist you’d like to become, I hope you’ll join me for the rest of the Beyond the Notes series. I have a feeling that what we’ll discover won’t just change the way we practice piano—it may even change the way we approach learning, creativity, and growth in the rest of our lives as well.
And if you found this post inspiring, here are a few others for you to explore:
- Why Am I Not Getting Better at Piano? 9 Adult Mistakes
- Learn How to Practice Piano in 15 Minutes a Day
- How to Still Practice Piano While Working Full-Time
- Tips for How to Stay Motivated When Learning Piano
- How Long Does It Take to Learn Piano as a Busy Adult?
