I, Athlete

March 13, 2025

Jascha Heifetz once said that a successful violinist has to have nerves like a bullfighter, the sensitivity of a poet, and the concentration of a Buddhist monk. I would add one other element to those essential qualities: the agility and strength of an athlete. I can hear those not acquainted with the violin pooh-poohing the very idea. After all, the instrument must weigh hardly a pound, and the bow is ridiculously feather-light. Developing your muscles is a grueling goal for a budding tennis player or ballet dancer, but even if you shrum-shrum all day long on the violin, who needs agility and strength?

From the moment I began violin lessons at age six, as with every other starting young violinist, we fiddlers were building muscles as we learned how to hold the violin and bow, practiced scales and etudes, and began the long journey from playing a simple song such as “Long, Long Ago” to the brilliant Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. Of course, the muscles of our fingers and hands are directly involved, but also the arms, shoulders, neck, stomach, and even the back.

And in tandem with agility and strength comes endurance. I remember a rather unpleasant experience of mine as a young musician performing Johann Sebastian Bach’s A-Minor Solo Violin Sonata. I had practiced the entire work diligently, but when I arrived at the sonata’s second movement, a long and arduous fugue, I began to experience the same fatigue that an unprepared long distance runner might feel during a marathon. It was clear that many more hours of practice—sheer muscle work—would have been needed to assure a more confident performance. Regardless of the success or failure of my musical ideas, I had failed as an athlete.

But how many hours of practice are needed? The great Hungarian violin pedagogue Leopold Auer maintained that three hours of daily practice are more than sufficient, four if the violinist is not very smart, and with five or more hours, he recommended choosing another profession. Well, Professor Auer, I must be one of the stupid ones, or even in the wrong profession. Five minutes of practice a day as a six-year-old became an hour at age ten, and, once I realized my goal to be a professional violinist, up to five hours daily as a teenager, especially during the summer months. Not only did I have to improve my violinistic skills, but also to master the concertos, virtuoso works, and sonatas that my teachers demanded of me. It meant practicing enough so that I had the stamina to practice even more. This was especially true as graduation day from music conservatory came and went, and many of us entered international competitions in hopes of furthering our careers. At the 1963 Queen Elisabeth International Violin Competition in Brussels, twelve of us finalists were sequestered in the royal chapel for one week in order to hone the substantial repertoire required, and to learn and perform a concerto especially written for the competition finalists and unseen by us beforehand. During that week we basically did only three things: eat, sleep, and practice.

There is, however, a darker side to practicing. Whether laying bricks, sitting at a computer for a living, or even doing something as arcane as playing the violin, you are at risk of getting repetitive motion disorder, a group of musculoskeletal problems caused by prolonged or repetitive movements that put stress on muscles, tendons, and nerves. I cannot speak for the bricklayer or the computer operator, but just imagine the thousands of repetitive motions a violinist makes with both instrument and bow in the course of merely becoming a promising music student! And it’s not only how long, but how well one practices. In years past I often attended concerts with a friend of mine, Judith Stransky, who taught the Alexander technique, a movement-training method that helps people improve their posture and movement. Without ever having played an instrument herself, she was able to predict which musicians would have future physical problems, and which would not—all based solely on the motions she saw in their playing style.
Professor Leopold Auer had more to say about practice when he wisely recommended taking three hours to practice two hours, four hours to practice three, and if you were foolish enough to practice four, taking at least six hours, in order to avoid injuries. Auer never mentioned the word “athlete,” but this could easily have been advice from the newspaper’s sports section reporting on injuries—you name the sport—and how to avoid them.

The cellist Pablo Casals once said, “The most perfect technique is that which is not noticed at all.” On occasion I hear students play difficult music well enough but with a certain hesitancy, an ever-so-slight slowing of tempo—a dead giveaway that the music is technically challenging. At that point one of their goals should be to cultivate an athletic prowess that gives them the confidence to attack the thorniest of music fearlessly rather than cautiously, and to give the impression of utter ease. What follows, of course, is to play with the nerves of a bullfighter, the sensitivity of a poet, and the concentration of a Buddhist monk.