Sometimes life sends you a problem, and in the process of solving it, you stumble onto a completely different solution you weren’t even looking for. Let me explain.

… any harp piece, well played, could be satisfying to an audience. I didn’t have to razzle-dazzle them with the Hindemith sonata every time.

In my early 30s, I was the principal harpist with the Lehigh Valley Chamber Orchestra, a fairly new but very high-quality orchestra in the Allentown-Bethlehem-Easton area of Pennsylvania. The orchestra had been invited to play a concert for the area’s new Mayfair event celebrating Memorial Day. The conductor asked the principal flutist and me to play the Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp. It’s never been one of my favorite harp pieces, but I accepted because I enjoyed playing with the flutist and, after all, who turns down a performance backed by a full professional chamber orchestra? Besides, I had won a concerto competition my junior year in college with the Mozart so I figured there’d be no problem.

Practicing the piece was unexpectedly challenging, and I was having a lot of difficulty reaching the tempos the conductor and flutist wanted. I had been having some hand problems—mostly numbness and tingling, some weakness, and an inability to play really fast. The performance was on an unusually hot May evening in a local high school that lacked air conditioning, and it did not go well, at least on my part. Between the heat and my perspiring fingers, I just didn’t play up to my standards. It was disconcerting, and since lack of practice wasn’t the problem, I needed to find out what was.

About eight years earlier, I had graduated from Eastman with my master’s degree in harp performance, studying with Eileen Malone. I was concerned that I had developed some bad habits in the intervening years, so I made an appointment to travel to Rochester to take a lesson with Miss Malone and have her evaluate my hand position. She very graciously agreed. After I played for her, she determined that there was nothing wrong with my hand position or my playing in general and that the problem might be a physical one. While her answer was reassuring, it didn’t solve my problem. 

As it turned out, I had carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists for which I had surgery that fixed the issue completely. And no, it was not a result of my harp playing. I was working a “day job” that required a lot of typing, often under pressure. These were the very early days of personal computers, and little was known about ergonomic design, so the PC had just been dumped on my desk with the keyboard at the same level as the monitor. That’s what caused my carpal tunnel.

But back at that harp lesson, while Miss Malone and I were talking about what the problem might be, she suggested that it wasn’t always necessary to choose the most difficult, challenging pieces for most of my performances, and that any harp piece, well played, could be satisfying to an audience. I didn’t have to razzle-dazzle them with the Hindemith sonata every time. Easing up on my repertoire, she thought, might reduce the pain I was feeling until I could find out what the physical problem was. She gave me a short list of pieces, some of which I already played and some of which were new to me, to use in low-pressure situations—Sunday church services, background music, weddings, and the like. It helped a lot until I got the carpal tunnel diagnosis. 

More than that, I’ve relied on her advice throughout my playing career (now going on 61 years!). Once I stopped feeling I had to prove something every time I sat down at the harp, I played much better and with far less stress. And most audiences had no idea whether what I was playing was difficult or not. They mostly just found it beautiful, which was exactly Miss Malone’s point. “If you play it well and with musicality, your audiences will love it.” 

I have found those words especially helpful during jam-packed performance seasons when I know I’ll be short on practice time (hint-hint: November and December). When I get to choose my own repertoire—as opposed to having to do A Ceremony of Carols for the 50th time—I have a stack of beautiful, low-stress repertoire to rely on. My audiences love it, and I come home satisfied.

I’ve passed along Miss Malone’s advice to many of my students, encouraging them when possible to choose pieces they can present with musicality and confidence. It wasn’t what I expected from that lesson, but it was great advice for a long playing career. •