How Studying Composition Changed the Way I See Sheet Music: Simple Tips for Performers
- Yeoul Choi
- Sep 25
- 6 min read
Hello, MyMusicSheet Readers!
I’m the writer at MyMusicSheet who uploads sheet music and classical music analysis posts. To briefly introduce myself, I am currently pursuing a doctoral degree in composition at a music school in the United States. Alongside my studies, I also work as a teaching assistant in music theory for undergraduate students, and I stay active as a composer through performances and collaborative projects.
Today, I’d like to share with you how I, as a composition major, have come to approach music from a particular perspective—through what I call “practical tips for tackling unfamiliar pieces,” all woven into my own personal story.
My First Composition Lesson
I still remember the winter of my 8th grade year, when I persuaded my parents to let me start composition lessons. At the time, I was just a young girl who loved music and enjoyed piano as a hobby—I had no idea what studying composition really meant. But I found musicians who could not only read and perform existing pieces but also write their own music and play it themselves absolutely fascinating. I wanted to learn how to become like them.
So, I finally began the long-awaited composition lessons, only to discover just how complex the world of composition study could be.
The First Gateway: Harmony
My teacher told me that to become a good classical composer, one must carefully study harmony (Tonal Harmony). Thus, I started with the basics and gradually advanced into more complex rules, even four-part writing that required strict voice-leading rules. Practicing with countless exercises was fun at times, but also incredibly challenging.
Every day, I would sit at the piano or at my desk, solving new assignments, getting feedback from my teacher, correcting mistakes, and repeating the cycle over and over again. It was a process of endurance and discipline—almost like spiritual training.
The Moment Music Analysis Became Fun
There’s an old saying, “The more you know, the more you see.” After going through this long and sometimes grueling process, by the time I reached my senior year of high school, I had already completed advanced harmony.
My teacher always included score analysis in my lessons. And once I had mastered harmony, something magical happened: when I looked at a new piece, I could instantly recognize most of the chords and automatically annotate them with Roman numerals.
For the first time, I felt the joy of exclaiming, “Wow! I can actually analyze this difficult music!” From then on, I no longer feared encountering something new.
For example, I would think to myself:
“Ah, here’s where the modulation happens… this modulation shifts the piece into a new structural section, and the transition is beautifully seamless.”
Or, “This composer crafted such a refined harmonic progression beneath the melody—what a brilliant way to write!”
The more I learned about harmony, the more insights opened up before me when facing new music.
Learning Musical Form
Beyond harmony, I also studied musical form and style, which became another powerful tool for reading a piece more quickly.
For instance, take Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons: June (Barcarolle). This piece follows Ternary form (ABA’). Around 1:40, a new thematic idea appears, marking the beginning of the B section. After a transition, the music returns at about 2:30 to the opening idea in the original key, creating the A’ section. This is a textbook example of ternary form, and countless works are built on similar structures. Knowing form makes both practice and analysis much easier.
Practical Tips for You: Harmony
So, how should you approach and read new piano music if you want to learn it quickly? Of course, you don’t need to study all the harmony a composition major does. But I highly recommend learning some basics of harmony. Once you understand the function and quality of chords, reading a piece becomes much faster and smoother.
Also, sometimes, what looks like a simple chord progression actually turns out to be the main idea driving the entire piece. Once you realize that, memorizing the music becomes much easier—you no longer need to painstakingly memorize note by note. I know this from personal experience!
Now, let’s return to Tchaikovsky’s The Seasons, No. 6, “June.” To understand the harmony, we first need to establish the key. This piece is in G minor, written in 4/4 time, with the marking Andante cantabile—slow and songlike.
From here, we’ll start using Roman numeral analysis, a common way of labeling harmony. Essentially, we stack triads on each degree of the scale and assign each one a Roman numeral. For example, the first chord is labeled I (or i in minor), while the fifth chord is labeled V.
In June, the opening bar begins with the tonic chord, i (G minor), over which the melody unfolds. If you play through it on the piano, you’ll notice that the right hand primarily carries the melody, while the left hand drives the harmony and accompaniment. Playing only the left hand reveals that from measure 1 through the third beat of measure 3, the tonic chord i dominates. Then, on the fourth beat, the bass moves to A, the root of another chord. This is the dominant chord, V, which often serves to embellish or extend the tonic. Together, i and V also form the foundation of cadences—the musical punctuation that closes or defines a phrase.
So, in these opening four measures, the music is built on the interplay between i and V. As you continue through the piece, you’ll find that this same harmonic relationship supports the main melodic idea again and again. Knowing this harmonic framework right from the start can make practicing the left hand much easier and less overwhelming, since you’re no longer reading note by note but understanding the larger harmonic structure that holds everything together.
Making Practice Easier Through Musical Structure
Once you’ve begun to notice the harmony, the next step is to examine the structure of the score. Rather than focusing on labeling the form like a specialist, it’s more practical to look for the moments when musical ideas shift and divide the piece accordingly. Instead of reading mechanically from the first note onward, it helps to first take in the broader picture, imagine the character of each idea, and then begin practicing.
When practicing, don’t start by reading slowly note by note. Instead, take in the big picture first:
What are the main musical ideas?
How do they differ from one another?
What kind of character or mood does each section carry?
Once you reflect on these ideas, you’ll discover new inspiration for how to interpret and perform the music.
Returning to Tchaikovsky’s score, the ascending stepwise motion in the right hand gradually builds tension, creating a sense of forward momentum and vitality. The following melody, however, moves in wide but mostly descending leaps, which conveys not strength but rather a calm, sinking quality. In this way, ascending steps and descending leaps alternate, creating contrasting colors while at the same time shaping an organically unified phrase. Ultimately, the charm of this piece lies not in the mere shapes of the melodies but in how the same devices—“stepwise motion” and “leaps”—evoke entirely different emotions depending on their direction and context.
The passage above comes right after the introduction. In the introduction, the right hand sang a gentle stepwise melody, but here the music gradually gains energy as it shifts into a new idea. The harmony also changes, and above the steady accompaniment in the left hand, the right hand takes up a repeating pattern that propels the music forward. Especially with the indication poco più f (“a bit louder”), the rising melody is reinforced, and together with the expansion in register and dynamics, we feel the music itself surging with greater energy.
What follows is a series of shorter, compressed motifs that, through repetition and variation, accumulate tension before leading into a diminishing process (dimin.). This kind of contrast and cycle suggests more than melodic motion: it is as though one were rowing on a lake, the waves gradually swelling and then subsiding into stillness.
For practice, then, it’s important not just to follow the notes, but to be aware of two large curves: the “forward-driving impulse” and the “settling flow.” With this in mind, each phrase will sound not like separate melodic fragments but like a continuous, wave-like breath—one long, unfolding story.
I hope this post helps you approach your practice with fresh ideas. May today mark the start of more enjoyable and meaningful practice sessions for you!
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