“Talent is what you think other people have when you’re feeling insecure.”
—Rob Knopper, Metropolitan Opera percussionist
When I taught high school English back in the 1990s, my colleagues and I would often chat about our students over lunch. I’ve forgotten the conversations except for one that sticks in my memory for its striking opposition to what I believed at the time. A couple of English teachers and I were talking in the teacher’s lounge with the school’s choir director, whose groups regularly won prestigious awards. We were discussing talent among our students, referring to a few students whose talent for writing seemed to be far above that of their classmates, when the choir teacher interjected, “I don’t believe in talent. I don’t think it exists. It all boils down to hard work.”
I kept my mouth shut, but to myself I thought, “What the hell are you talking about? Of course talent exists. Some people have it, or at least more of it than others, and some don’t.” I had been around many dedicated musicians over the years, and it was clear to me that some simply had more talent than others. Some just played better and could do things that others only dreamed of doing.
Rob Knopper, whom I quoted above, is among those who believe that talent is overrated, unless by talent you mean hard work.
Knopper’s biography is compelling in this respect. In addition to his job at the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra (a top-level group in case you don’t keep up with orchestral reputations), he has become something of a internet guru on the subject of practicing for success. He uses his own career in music as an object lesson: In a word, his story goes like this: after many years of setbacks and disappointments, he has a realization about his weaknesses, rededicates himself and subsequently reaches the top of his profession.
The right steps. But to back up a bit, Knopper decided in junior high school that he wanted to become a professional drummer. Feeling certain, however, that he didn’t have the coolness to succeed as a rock musician, he decided that he would become an orchestral percussionist. Being a dedicated kind of guy, he took all the right steps to achieve his goal: countless hours of practice, attending prestigious summer music camps, attending Julliard, and auditioning for summer music festivals. Despite all these steps, he took many auditions but never broke through in the way that he had hoped he would. Rejections far outnumbered acceptances, something like seven minor successes out of more than 50 auditions.
Once, after failing to win another audition and feeling at the end of his rope, he decided he would figure out what he had to do, no matter what it took, to win an audition and commit himself totally to succeeding at the project. He did the most sensible thing. He went home to his parents home for the summer and practiced 10-12 hours a day to improve the weakest part of his playing: quiet snare drumming, which, in case you are not a drummer, is especially dicey if you have the slightest bit of nervous energy. Imagine your hands trembling as you try to perform the most delicate passages of soft playing on an instrument that seems built to be played loud.
After the marathon summer of practice at his parents’ home, he came back to New York with a new level of confidence. When soft snare drum playing was called for, he was confident that he could do it. He eventually won his current position at the Metroplitan Opera and began playing with percussionists who had been his heroes not so long before.
Intelligent practice. Knopper credits hard work, and hard work is essential, but it’s not the only thing needed. Knowing how to practice efficiently is equally important. In other words, you can practice for 12 hours a day, but if you’re not practicing in a way that produces results, if you are not practicing intelligently, you are not going to succeed. I’m guilty of that myself. In an effort to improve my trumpet playing when I was younger, I would often practice for 5 or 6 hours every day. But with the benefit of hindsight, I see that my practice was haphazard and lacked appropriate goals. By appropriate, I mean specific and achievable. As a result, my progress was uneven, and often I ended up feeling massively frustrated. I was working very hard, but not making the progress that others around me were making.
In retrospect, I see that my teachers were in part to blame. I actually never learned how to practice from any of them. The typical response to my playing at each week’s lesson from my teachers went something like this: “Sounds good, see you next week,” which is not a good game plan. A summary of my game plan for practice, which borrows form the work of Knopper and USC music professor Robert Cutietta, can be found on this website’s FAQ page. My plan now, since I don’t play the trumpet professionally any longer, is to impart this wisdom to my students.