Growing up, tone was a constant concern of my teachers with my playing. It seemed that I could play in tune, find resonance (using the ringing tones of my violin), maintain left hand and right hand posture, have enough rosin my bow and still not produce a rich, chocolatey, deep sound. The lack of depth was obvious in my performances of repertoire such as Chorus, Humoresque, and La Folia, but my surfacey playing was present, but masked in all pieces.

My ear was prejudiced. I enjoyed the whispy, sweet timbre that didn’t require much effort. The “sweet” tone, was produced by four misuses of the bow. Bow contact (too close to the fingerboard). Bow weight (not enough). Bow tilt (stick rolling away from the bridge). Bow distribution (too much time at tip, not enough at frog). In lessons focused on producing deep tone, I shied away from the crunch, the overtones, the weight, and the sort of hiss required to play close to the bridge. Despite the time and tactics forfeited in a lesson to correct my tone (or my ear), I was not emotionally set or trusting enough to invest the effort at home in practice.

Within the first couple of lessons at UT, my professor made it very clear that her (and my) priority would be the cultivation of rich sound on the instrument. I was able to play in tune, in tempo, and from memory, but my value as a performer lacked boldness and convincing breadth. We would establish a standard depth, richness, roundness to my tone, only later layering characters over it to express musical ideas.

The key was the consistency in the practice room required to train my ears and hands to work to something beyond my comfort zone. I developed a morning routine (30 minutes blocked off to begin my practice day), that was designed to remind me what to listen for and what actions were necessary for quality tone. While I work through each of the following exercises, I keep my eyes glued to my bow. I evaluate bow use, and make sure my strokes are working to the advantage of my sound production. (Bow close to bridge, heavy and relaxed wrist/arm/elbow/shoulder, stick over hair, whole bows).

Yost Tone Builder (an extended tonalization). Broken chords across all four strings. I play the system in different parts of the bow, with different strokes, at different speeds. The priority is to let my violin ring.
Scale. One three-octave key system each day. First stopping on ringing tones, then playing the system (various strokes and alternating speeds) up to tempo.
Arpeggios. One key system each day. First stopping on ringing tones, then playing all seven arpeggios up to tempo.
Sevcik Shifting. One exercise each week, building up the tempo each morning. Focus on relaxed and effortless shifs while maintaing rich sound.
Sevcik Double Stops. One exercise each week, building up the tempo each morning. Focus on relaxed and effortless intonation while maintaing rich sound on two strings.
Review. Solo Bach or Suzuki repertoire. Staying mindful of tone, but in the context of a piece.

This routine at the beginning of each day prepares me for a forensic evaluation then of my working pieces. Though I now (very proudly) play with a richer tone, and contact point seems to be a resolved issue, there are passages that pull me back into my old habits. I pinpoint those sections, and practice with the principles of good tone, until I can play with rich intentions without having to consciously remind myself.

Tone building will always be a work in progress, but an established morning routine to remind me what to listen for has made all the difference!

Nancy Lokken has been in town the past couple of days doing Suzuki Book 4 training hosted by the Suzuki Strings of Austin. I had the privilege of observing and listening to her masterclasses, group classes, and parent lecture on Saturday afternoon. After almost four hours of observing her instruction, I found myself wishing I was taking the full Book 4 training instead of going back to school on Monday (why, school? why?).

One thing I picked up from her masterclasses was the consistent conclusion of each lesson. Although individual lessons were just 20 minutes, each ended comfortably (and on time!) with a sense of finality and mutual understanding.

Her routine consisted of four parts, outlined below:

Assignment. A short, direct instruction to practice an exercise already executed in the lesson.
“Do you have any questions?” Time she gave to the student to address any lingering confusions.
“What did we do today?” Time she gave the student to verbally review, and prioritize, aspects of the lesson. Her opportunity to check for understanding.
Bow.

After this clear and reliable finish, student, parent, and teacher leave the lesson understanding his/her role in the home practice and following lesson. A safe time for asking questions has been built into the lesson, which allows students and parents time to redress loose ends and iron out complicated concepts. Most importantly, Ms. Lokken knows that the students understands the concepts, because she has allowed time to check for comprehension. At once empowering students (allowing them to take responsibility, acknowledging that they are part of the “suzuki triangle”), and taking precautions against miscommunication and misunderstanding, she makes each lesson more valuable.

This approach has the possibility of eliminating many conflicts at home and increasing the overall productivity of lessons. I plan to add an assignment, question time, comprehension check, and bow to the structure of my own lessons.

Some questions I still have:
At what age does she start asking the student these questions? Does she ask the parent before?
Does Ms. Lokken use a lesson/practice journal for each week (where she writes out assignments), or are notes entirely parent based?

It has now been over a month since I sat in Dell Hall at the Long Center, blown away by the virtuosity of the Menuhin International Violin Competition prize winners, judges, and the visiting Cleveland Orchestra. The audience was treated that night to the Ravel Tzigan, Kreisler’s Praeludium and Allegro for soloist and orchestra, the Prokofiev Violin Concerto No. 2, and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4. The performance was spectacular; it was the perfect conclusion to the previous 10 days of violin mastery.

On February 20, a Thursday, violinists from around the world began to find their way to the Butler School of Music at the University of Texas in order to check in and orient themselves to their new environment. The violinists who arrived were only the top forty-two selected to compete, twenty-one under 18 and twenty between 16 and 22, out of 275 applicants. According to Gordan Back, the Menuhin Artistic Director who gave a lecture on the structure of the competition, only two out of the 275 shouldn’t have applied. He made it clear that choosing the top twenty-two violinist in each division was nearly impossible, but he was very excited to welcome all candidates, especially from different countries, to compete in the first round.

The ten judges, violinist and a pianists each with their own distinguished teaching and performing career, listened as audience members to each candidate for five rounds total of competition. Performers selected a program from options provided in each category, and hoped to offer judges a snapshot of their full range of performance ability at this point in time. The contestants crafted performances of virtuosity [Paganini, Wienawski, Sarasate], lyricsm [second movements of Mozart Violin Concertos, Solo Bach], cooperation [Haydn Quartet, Beethoven Sonata, Halvossen Pasacaglia], dexterity [improvisation, new compositions], and maturity [complete violin concertos with orchestra].

I have now had a chance to reflect on my observations, and partially digest the sheer talent and uniqueness of each competitor.  After a month of pondering and revisiting the judges’ decisions through preliminary rounds, and eventually their selection of only two winners, I have attempted to discern exactly what the judges were looking for in a Menuhin Competition winner.

Because the standard of playing was so high from all candidates invited to Austin to compete, judges expected a professional quality of playing. The following are not characteristics that set each player apart, but rather non-negotiates exhibited consistently all ten days of competition.

MASTERY OF TECHNIQUE. Every single competitor exceeded proficiency in violin technique. Shifting, intonation, varieties of vibrato, finger dexterity, a plethora of bow strokes, rhythmic accuracy, and leading skills had already been well developed.
OWNERSHIP. Every single competitor demonstrated ownership; they kept up with other competitors and performers and congratulated their peers without the prompting of chaperones. Most importantly, every young violinists carried his or her own instrument.
FOCUS. Every single competitor was focused (but not hyper-focused) on the Menuhin Competition at hand, and violin in general. Each had a sense of purpose.
CONFIDENCE, CONTROL, COMFORT. Every single competitor walked onstage, demonstrating much confidence in their individual skills and comfort with the violin.

Because all forty competitors demonstrated these four foundational aspects of musicianship, judges then had only two elements of playing to base advancement on.

TONE. Quality, versatility, and uniqueness of tone
PERFORMANCE ABILITY. Stage presence, direction, and conviction. Ability to speak to the audience.

Considering the role tone and performance ability played in the competition as a whole, I now see them as the two most important aspects of a professional musician’s career. The work then, as a musician, is to build a solid technical foundation strengthened by focus, ownership, and confidence. From there, we allow performance presence and our own uniqueness of tone to set us apart.

Congratulations to winners, Stephen Waarts and Rennosuke Fukuda. I will certainly be keeping tabs on the Menuhin Competition 2016 in London.