The first temptation when errors occur is to correct them as swiftly as possible because they often result in a sudden sound that is jarring to the listener, an uncorrected pitch error, for example, or an inordinate change in tempo. But each of these errors, small or large, supplies vital information about where the internal map is missing detail. If one has sung sharp, there is some detail lacking in one’s conception of pitch. If one has lost the form of a piece, then some of the information about the organization of this particular piece is lacking, perhaps where one did not retain sufficient breath support. The error itself is a response from the music that says, “Look more carefully here.”
It is in these flaws that learning and improvement occur. The musician who pays attention to a note that is out of tune does not just fix the note. She starts to be able to notice the space between the note that should have been played and the note that was played. This space is a far better teacher than any human ever could be. With practice, the musician notices the same mistake repeated again and again until she can anticipate it before it occurs. Instead of a source of annoyance, it becomes a welcome landmark on the road to mastery.
This change in orientation has a profound effect on the feel of practice. Instead of dread of failure, curiosity about learning. All of a sudden, the shoulders don’t tighten up and the breath becomes easier to take. The mind is no longer focused on the downbeat of the second theme, but squarely in the moment. No longer is it a struggle to practice something perfect; it’s a fascinating conversation with sound. One of my students once told me that his biggest discoveries came not after a good practice of a section, but after a bad practice, where mistakes were made but also understood.
In addition, the acceptance of mistakes encourages grit and innovation. A passage that doesn’t want to submit can encourage us to try shifting the balance, to employ different articulations, to use a different fingering, and to learn things we would not have learned had we played it correctly. So many of the most moving and unique musical performances have originated from a musician who did not accept a technical or musical restriction and set out to find out what was on the other side. If mistakes are accepted as such, they become opportunities for creation rather than something to be feared.
But in the grand scheme of musical growth, students who learn to approach their mistakes with interest and not judgment are developing an even more powerful tool than correctness: a healthy, long-term relationship with themselves. And with that comes a certain self-assurance that doesn’t stem from flawlessness, but from the fact that with each mistake, they get a little wiser and a little more sensitive. And after a decade or two, playing music no longer feels like a battle to play correctly, but an ongoing dialogue.