The tortoise and the hare
and what slowing down can do for music and for creativity
Here he comes!
As soon as I open my front door he’s pushing in under my arm, shrugging off his coat as he goes. Into the bathroom to wash his hands and then up the stairs two at a time (no matter how many times I tell him to take it a bit slower, please!), music folder under one arm.
By the time I make it up the stairs (one at a time) he’s already playing.
‘Kate, I trained this well. I practiced it slowly, just like you said,’ he shouts. ‘And it worked! Listen!’
And so I do and so it does. We high five, do a little dance, and then get on with it, but inside I am buzzing.
It’s a wonderful moment when something finally clicks for a student. When it’s the seemingly counterintuitive idea that practicing slowly can actually help you play faster, you’ll hear me cheering from wherever you are.
Of course it’s not as simple as flicking on a switch.
There’s a steady process of two steps forward, one step back, and at least a few sideways before we get there, me showing my students again and again and encouraging them to try it for themselves. No easy thing, especially when you’re talking to a small boy who thinks speed is everything.
I doubt there is a single piano student who hasn’t started out thinking that the goal in music must be to play everything as fast as possible. I see it all the time with beginners. It’s as if it’s a race to get to the end, as if there couldn’t possibly be any other goal except getting there, no matter what happens in the middle.
When that’s the goal, there’s very little room for choice. You’re not really deciding how to play, you’re just trying to keep going. Speed takes over, and with it goes any agency you might have.
And without agency, creativity has very little space to breathe.
Do it this way and there’s no need to think about how the notes sound, or even if they’re the right ones. Your job is done, time to move on to the next thing, right?
So it’s no wonder many students look at me with scepticism when I tell them that the smartest musicians do the opposite and deliberately practice slowly.
It’s a secret weapon, and lucky for them I’m here to help them use it, too.
The secret weapon in action
There are lots of benefits to slow playing, but here are some of my favourites:
Precision and muscle memory:
Play fast all the time and you’re not really in control.
It might not feel like it, but your brain has slipped into autopilot and your fingers are relying on muscle memory. Wrong notes become ingrained, and once that happens it’s hard not just to spot them but to change them, too. Your fingers will protest.
Mistakes are going to happen, no question. There isn’t a single musician on this planet who doesn’t make them. But there’s a lot we can do to reduce how often they happen, and just as importantly, to learn how to manage and embrace them when they do.
Mistakes can lead to creative magic, but not when you don’t yet have the skills or confidence to respond. Playing slowly gives you the mental space to think about what to do next.
Control:
At heart, slow practice is about learning to play with control. It can feel as if you’re in control when you play fast, but really you’re being carried along. That’s fine until something unexpected happens, and then there’s a high chance you’ll crash and burn.
Expression and putting yourself in the music:
This is a big one, and so fundamental. Unless you’re a robot, the music is always going to be a reflection of you, so why not make it as beautiful as you possibly can?
How loud or soft, how slow or fast, the tone you use, the transition from one section to another, whether you linger on a note or move straight on, make one note short and another longer, all of this and more works together to create the music.
But you need the chance to think about these things, to experiment, to try things out, and to really listen to what you’re doing.
Whatever you’re playing, it has to feel as though it’s becoming yours, that you are in the music, too. Simply ripping through the notes from beginning to end, if you make it that far, does both you and the music a disservice.
Not easy
None of this is easy.
In fact, it can be really hard work. It takes real focus to change the way you do something, and at first there’s very little reward, unlike the immediate satisfaction of getting to the end of a piece.
Slow practice acts like a magnifying glass, making every note and every potential mistake obvious. That can be frustrating, but it also makes it much harder to ignore what’s really going on.
You’ll have to change the way you play the notes, too. When the aim is just to get to the end, a lot can slide. Playing slowly and really aiming for each note demands much more precise technique, and that takes effort.
From piano to creativity in general
So, have I sold you on this yet??
It sounds like hard work, but I promise the rewards can be huge.
Practice like this and you’re engaging in intentional, active learning. You start to really own what you’re playing, which is deeply satisfying, and your ability to focus improves. That alone has a knock-on effect in other areas of your life.
This might sound very specific to music, and especially piano, but moving slowly isn’t just a technical bridge from ‘bad’ to ‘fast’. It’s a fundamental shift in how you relate to whatever it is you’re creating.
When you intentionally slow down, you move from simply doing the thing to actively choosing how you do it. And that choice, made again and again, is where skill, confidence, and creativity grow.
Just ask my young student, who still moves up and down the stairs at the speed of light, but now knows when it’s time to slow things down.