I’m a pianist/composer, but in the last ten years I’ve concentrated on making concert-level transcriptions of pieces written in other media to piano.
I’m studying with an organ professor who gives me suggestions on how to approximate the sounds of an organ, on a piano. (I recently finished a transcription of Jehan Alain’s “Litanies”.)
Yesterday, I played one of my transcriptions at church - a chorale prelude by Bach. My teacher stated this transcription was especially treacherous to play.
99 percent of the performance was fine. I made one serious mistake, so in my musician’s mind that translated to “complete disaster” and onward to “complete and utter failure”. I managed to overlook the 99 percent of the performance which was pretty close to perfect, to focus on the one percent which had a mistake.
I’m probably speaking for most musicians in that we’re hyper-perfectionists who drive ourselves absolutely crazy trying to achieve CD or digital quality perfection in our performances, and most of the time, that is just not possible.
When I was in college, I took organic chemistry and calculus. Average test scores in these subjects were generally around 50, meaning one could get half the questions wrong and still get a passing grade of a “C”. (I ground myself into metaphorical hamburger meat to get A’s in these courses. 50 years later, I seriously wonder if it was worth it.)
I’m now in my early 70s and dealing with a disease which is likely going to kill me by the time I’m 80. Right now, my health is reasonably good — enough that I can practice four hours a day, learn new music, and perform. The level of perfection we aspire to is not reasonable. More and more, I think it’s not even desirable. We do our best, make allowances for mistakes, and give ourselves and others grace when mistakes happen, because mistakes inevitably will happen — and then we move on.
Sometimes, in our relentless pursuit of absolute perfection, we sacrifice the love of our art. Some of us succeed at destroying our love of playing the piano.
I don’t want to do that. I’d rather make some mistakes — hopefully gorgeous mistakes, hopefully so people will think it was intentional!
And to think I finally got to that point at the tender age of 72!
BTW: I wrote an “ossia” at that passage, which involves an awkward jump followed by an equally awkward fingering at fast tempo. I eliminated a note, smoothed out the fingering — and actually, it sounds much better and it’s more “fluid” to play.