David Chang
Biography
At 13 years old, David Chang found he had an unusual gift for teaching and has since created amazing results for students for over 20 years. He earned his master’s degree in piano performance from Manhattan School of Music and his bachelor’s degree in music education from New York University. For over 15 years, he has created many unique methods for learning and memorizing with maximum speed, quality, and independence.
He works only with serious adult students and clients of all levels, teaching virtual lessons and coaching high performers worldwide.
As a pianist, David has performed at Steinway Hall, Lincoln Center, the National Opera Center, the Colburn School, Manhattan International Film Festival, and at numerous other venues throughout North America, Europe, and Asia. In 2024 and 2025, he had the honor of playing for Sir Stephen Hough and for Garrick Ohlsson.
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I would say the surface level answer is just when I was in middle/high shcool I found that my talent was awakening at that time and I felt good as a teenager to have people say nice things about me. I wasn’t one of those that had a huge passion from when I was like 5 years old or something, so it was a passion taht kind of slowly grew. I think the deper answer is that around that time maybe when I was like 12 or 13, I just started feeling this very deep passion, an energy that I can’t even control. So it just felt like so much emotion and energy that I couldn’t even contain it. Maybe thatw as my natural passion awakening over time, and I followed my gut feeling from there without logic or reason.
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I don’t know if I have a favorite piece. For favorite composer, obviously I play a lot of Chopin. It feels almost sacrilegious to choose any one composer. I feel like I go back and forth between Chopin and Bach.
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It depends, but I do think I play pieces by Chopin very well when I’m on my game.
I guess I naturally gravitate towards dark, traumatic pieces, or at least that’s what I did when I was younger then as I ‘ve gotten odler, I feel like I’ve bene able to more embrace the whole spectrum of human emotion, though I think I do well with, let’s say virtuosic passages, with a melody , ringing over thetop. I also feel very athome if it requries like a very warm, caressing, like molding clay bird of touch. Sometimes I’ll bring down to more popular, like non-classical pieces as well too.
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I recently performed the Bach-Busoni Chaccone at the Colburn School, and it was at the end of a three-hour marathon concert. I was the last performer, and there was no intermission. Also, I really wasn't feeling well. So I actually feel proud of that since I played in a difficult condition. I could have left in the middle and come back, but I was sitting in the front row, so I thought that might be odd. I was proud of myself for not getting lazy internally. I think there are many different levels of giving up. And I could get a little lazy and think that these are very difficult conditions, so it's normal that I won't play well. Instead, it could be I'm just going to try my best. I was proud that I gave it everything that I had, and it went quite well.
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It's difficult to choose, but I might have to go with Kissin. It feels sacrilegious to choose any one legendary pianist, but when I watch him play, I just think, “Wow, I don't think anybody can be more convincing than that.” Obviously, there’s Argerich, Sokolov, Zimmerman, and more. It feels like continuing the list is pointless in some ways. It's just that there are so many great masters.
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I think everything that I do offstage is related to what I do onstage. I think the life that you live as a pianist—that's your inner world that you're building or replenishing. I think you've got to see and experience beautiful things in the world. Otherwise, where can you draw all of your imagination of color and different musical nuances from? I'd say, of course, things like reading, traveling, watching inspiring films, just having great life experiences, and not just the good things, like literally going through difficult things. We've got to do that to play these dark dramatic pieces, frankly. I don't really know if this is part of the answer to this question, but you might know I play a lot of those outdoor pianos when they are around me. I have played hundreds of them over the years, and I don't know if that's offstage. To me, it's also just as much onstage in many ways. Sometimes, I think we have a formal performance in a quiet hall. That feels very important, but then, I play on a public piano and many more people hear it, and then I repost it on social media, and even more people hear it. I think we work so hard for this one recital, and then nobody ever hears it again outside of that one performance. Certainly I think all these impromptu, informal-ish performances are always contributing to what's on stage.
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Yeah, I have tons, that’s exactly why people seek me out. My real challenge is concisely explaining what it is that I do. You might have seen online, “We work with amateur pianists and we accomplish in six to twelve months what usually takes three to five years.” These days, in the age of TikTok and short attention spans, you need a catchy phrase like this. But once people start talking with me, they realize there are all these unique methods I’ve developed.
I started teaching at 13 and began creating my own approaches around 16 or 17, which I’ve continued to refine ever since. My YouTube channel, David Chang Music, is kind of like an entry point. But I always compare it to reading a chess book: even if you finish the whole book, it doesn’t make you a grandmaster. Similarly, if someone watches all my videos, that’s just the beginning.
I’d say I have three main kinds of methodology. The physical methodology covers my views on technique, musicality, metronome work, and progressive practice systems; essentially what I learned in conservatory, plus the things I wasn’t taught but had to figure out myself.
Then there’s the logical methodology, which is about practicing in very small units: quarters, eighths, sixteenths of a measure, while keeping a written record. Humans are bad at remembering details, but if you track what you’ve practiced, it’s like creating an “external brain.” That allows you to make strategic decisions: when to revisit something, when to combine fragments, when to push further, when to hold back. It turns practice into strategy.
Next is the logistical methodology, which is about writing out fingerings, phrasing, and musical planning. Beyond that, I also focus on performance practice: being able to play for anyone, anywhere, anytime, even under tough conditions, and on mindset, overcoming limiting beliefs that block growth.
One of my specialties is mental practice; training the mind without the instrument. That’s actually how I first developed my logical notation system. If it’s done well, mental practice lets you start anywhere in a piece from memory, maintain repertoire, learn new works, and polish old ones without even touching your instrument. For pianists, it’s healthier too, since we sit too much. It also builds performance confidence by freeing you from reliance on a specific environment.
So, yes, I have many methods, probably too many to explain briefly, but that’s a high-level overview of the unique approaches I’ve developed and why people come to me.
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I do, but I won’t say anything specific right now. I don’t like to give everything away.
With public pianos, for me, it’s both fun and serious. I try to really enjoy myself when I’m playing, because that’s part of the reason I learned piano in the first place. It’s easy to forget that childlike joy and wonder. At the same time, I also take it seriously. These pianos are usually noisy and not in the best condition, so it’s easy to get lazy. I try to imagine I’m in a concert hall where every note can be heard. That makes it great practice.
So even though it might seem like a small thing, I find impromptu performances exciting. They’re for me, but apparently, they bring value to others as well. I also have some more formal performances in the works, but I’ll talk about those once they’re finalized. Recently, I had the chance to play for Sir Stephen Hough and for Garrick Ohlsson, which was really cool. Those weren’t planned far in advance, and I hadn’t played for anyone in about ten years. Since my teacher let me go in 2015, saying I was ready to be on my own, I hadn’t really played for anyone until then. That freedom helped me develop my own methods further. So playing for them last year was the first time in a long while.
As for public piano performances, I don’t plan them very much. Usually, I just think about what music I want to share, or sometimes, what pieces I struggle with. Then, I make myself perform them without warming up. The conditions vary; in New York, it is either raining, which meant s pianos are covered, or extremely hot. My planning is basically looking at the piano map from Sing for Hope, an organization I’ve been involved with for about ten years. I volunteered with them, and they donate pianos to schools, nursing homes, hospitals, and more. I just look at the map in the morning and decide where to go, maybe because it’s nearby, or because it’s cooler than another spot.
So there isn’t much planning. For example, one time, I ended up in Central Park and just played for about an hour from memory because no one stopped me. It wasn’t planned at all.
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I like that you said this was humorous, because sometimes humor can also be profound. Something that seems funny at first can actually feel strangely significant.
In terms of mental practice, I have many variations. Some are very logical and detailed, involving notation and even my own notational system. But some of the stranger ones happen in everyday life. For example, if I have my score with me in a clothing store or while standing in line, I do not care what people think and I will just take out my sheet music and practice mentally in those unusual places.
If I do not need the music, I often practice while doing cardio, walking, or running in the mornings. I also do mental practice lying on the couch or in bed. It does not look like “serious” practice, and sometimes I am honestly too tired to go to the piano. But even then, I can still get a lot done: memorization, review, and other kinds of work.
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One of the biggest things we do not talk about enough is strategy and mindset in relation to practice. We always talk about talent, whether it is fixed or can be unlocked, but talent is limited. We also talk about hard work, which usually means the number of hours you practice. These days it is even unpopular to say you practice long hours. People will say, “You are wasting time if you practice eight hours a day, you should practice four hours smartly.” But then you look at someone like Yunchan Lim, who practices much more than that, has great talent, and still puts in the hours. So why not both? Why not practice smart and also practice a lot?
What I realized is that nobody talks enough about the micro-decisions we make in the practice room. Many talented and hardworking players with excellent teachers still make poor decisions in practice. Their natural gifts and training compensate for it, but the inefficiency is real. Of course, true geniuses may transcend this entire framework. Still, I believe that my methods can help even very talented players, because the main constraint is not always technique, hours, or another lesson.
For example, in Chopin’s Winter Wind, one measure can be twelve or sixteen times harder than another. Why not literally break it down sixteen times smaller and practice accordingly? If there were sixteen times as many bar lines, would you approach it differently? We are so influenced by notation and structure that we overlook strategy.
The other part is mindset. Questions like “Am I good enough? Do I have enough time? Am I too old?” may affect amateurs more than professionals, but they are important for everyone. If you do not unravel these doubts for yourself or your students, motivation collapses. Then practice time is squandered because your attention is so fragmented.
