SCALING THE MOUNTAIN

MAY 20, 2019 – I don’t know of a single accomplished string player, however gifted or endowed with genius, who didn’t practice. Hard. Just as every NBA star has practiced 10,000 free throws, so has every string star practiced 10,000 scales.

Jascha Heifetz, among the most extraordinary violinists ever, once quipped that if he were limited to an hour of daily practice (his norm was several hours), he’d devote 55 minutes to scales (and the remainder to trills—no mention of etudes or repertoire).

One of my greatest regrets is that in my childhood I didn’t have someone drill into me the need to practice scales; that if I wanted to amount to (“sound like”?!) more than a hill of beans, I needed to lay down 10,000 scales by the time I was 10.

(Yeah, sure. The novelty of the violin wore off within three days after my grandfather, himself a former violinist/teacher, had first stuck a violin under my chin. Subsequently, I rebelled against practicing, period. It was no small miracle I got as far as I did in the years that followed.)

By the end of my sophomore year of high school, the window was closing on my chances of becoming a decent violinist. Somehow I was made to realize that to regain lost time, I needed to play 10,000 scales. Nearly every single day that summer of 1970, I practiced scales and arpeggios from 8:00 a.m. to noon.

If that discipline didn’t turn me into even a faint suggestion of Jascha Heifetz, at least it blocked the window from closing altogether.

As the years, then decades, passed, my dedication to the violin faded proportionately until a few years ago. I returned to the instrument—and gave a set of annual house concerts, which required sustained, serious practice. I resumed my daily work on scales, though not for four hours nor for the 55 minutes out of my typical hour of practice time, as prescribed by Mr. Heifetz. Even today in my annual seasonal lull, I practice my scales. At the start of each practice session, I cover a dozen scales and corresponding arpeggios.

Currently for repertoire, I’m reviving the Mendelssohn—a concerto I studied intensely in my college days, when I still practiced several hours daily. (I also performed it on one of my house concert programs eight years ago.) The piece is one of the most violinistic pieces ever written, and for me it is to the violin what my favorite ski run (Toni Matt from the summit to the base of Big Mountain in Montana) is to downhill skiing. I savor each.

But scales must precede great repertoire, just as getting to the mountaintop precedes a “Go Pro” downhill run. As much as the beauty of Mendelssohn beckons; as much as I want to race down Toni Matt, with all of its twists, turns, bumps, and spectacular vistas—I must first practice my scales and arpeggios; I must first scale my way to the top of Big Mountain.

© 2019 Eric Nilsson