This I
know. A few months back, I went back to
take piano lessons because I love Jim Brickman’s “Valentine” and I was so
inspired after seeing him in concert at Strathmore Music Hall. I wanted to play his music, a rather
ambitious feat for someone with my skills. You see, I have the interest, but I
don’t have a natural talent for playing a musical instrument.
I knew what
would happen. I have been told the
following over and over again by piano teachers:
1. No one is chasing you, take your
time. Take it slow. (Unsaid: Playing it
fast does not make it sound any better)
2. You play with feelings. (Unsaid: you have feelings, technique not so
muchJ)
3. That was good. You know, Mr. Bach, the composer
right? He has been dead for over a hundred years and he is turning in his grave when you
play this. He did not intend it to be jazz. (Unsaid: you are insulting the
composer)
4. Read the music, do not mix sight and
sound. You need more literature.
(Unsaid: you are wasting your money and my time). Yes, the composer intended that to be a B
flat. Don't second guess. Play it as he intended.
5. My husband (HB): I do not like
that. Oh yeah? Who does not like
Malaguena music? I play it anyway but always when he is not home J (Unsaid: Tha't awful. You need to practice more)
Anyway, I
took lessons last summer specifically to learn chords (did not happen) and play
Jim Brickman’s Valentine (disaster). I abandoned the lessons after the fifth session. The MO was that I practice, I play for the instructor,
her cell phone rings, she excuses herself, I get annoyed and cannot get over my
mental block on syncopated (I call them psychopathic) phrases, she criticizes
or critiques my playing of the same, and then we are done within 20 minutes and
I am not always sure what I paid for.
It dawned on
me that I can instead invite the Fedex delivery guy to listen before he leaves
the packages on my door but I am sure he
does not have time and I might traumatize the poor guy. Disappointed at my
inability to play Valentine, I hid Jim Brickman’s music book at the bottom of
my music sheet drawer the day I quit my lessons.
I am my foremost
critic. HB told me that I only have to enjoy it and that
is the only thing that should matter. I
love playing during the early morning hours of Saturdays with my cup of coffee
and the silence around me. When I go upstairs,
HB would say, “Thanks for the serenade.” He knows never to compliment me. When
he does, my fingers would lose memory and out goes the “concert.” I would sometimes miss a note and I could
hear him upstairs softly say, “Ooops!”
My cats are a different story though.
They would stay with me and then one would start walking on the keys
like saying, “Spare us, let me end it for you!”
I adored my first adult piano teacher in the
U.S. She called me Munioz. She was drunk
half the time and she played more than I did during the lessons and she was so
good, she could move me to tears. I shared Francesco Buencamino’s Harana music sheet with her and she played it by
sight the first time she saw it. I asked
her to play “Kahapon Lamang” and when she played, I was teary- eyed as she
interpreted so poignantly music she has not seen before. I told her after she played what the lyrics
said. My first and only recital was at
her mansion. She knew how terrified I
was so she allowed me to play while others were having their wine and
appetizers. My only attentive audience was her late elderly mother, God bless
her soul. She showered me with
encouragement and “bravo!” I think it was more for my chutzpah than anything
else.
I loved my second
piano teacher because she was very supportive and spoke Tagalog, English, and
Mandarin. She owned a Steinway and she
told me that she did not have a piano growing up so she would hang out by the
UST Conservatory of Music and play their piano until she was “discovered.” The instructor who walked in on her gave her lessons. She went to
Julliard but also has a PhD in psycho analysis. She is Chinay and I met her
when she substituted for my first teacher. They live in the same community so I
would try not to park my car where my first teacher might see my defection. So with Professor Li, I got lessons and free
psycho analysis. She retired and moved
away to Indiana and I stopped taking lessons. She told me never to give up my
love for playing, “hao ting sound when you play” (beautiful sound when you
play) she would say.
The first
time I went to Mrs. Li’s house, I told her I had tennis elbow and did not play
the piano for over a year. She asked me
how it happened. I told her that I wanted so much to memorize my Mozart that I
took an Adderall pill, don’t ask me where I got it – so that I could focus and
I played straight for more than 6 hours, so focused that I perpetuated the same
mistakes over and over again. I played until I could not lift my arms
anymore. I thought it was funny but it
was not fun suffering for over a year. She
then took a kimono belt and wrapped it around me so that my elbows were pinned
to my body. It looked like a
straitjacket. She was a psychoanalyst alright. It helped me maintain proper
alignment. She helped me learn the theme
song from The Pianist because I loved the film and then I played a Filipino
love song I learned "oido" style for her and she smiled from ear to ear. I should try and find her….I digress. After Sutsen
Li retired and moved, I played without instructions. I read my notes, I play
when I want to and I do not get stressed if I cannot practice religiously.
To welcome
my Steinway two weekends ago, I decided to revisit Jim Brickman. I begin and end every piano playing with
Bach’s Prelude –you know that one. I even threw in a simplified Moonlight
Sonata, etc. Curious if my fingers
retained any memory, I pulled out Jim Brickman’s Valentine and played it. Something magical happened – I played it
without any problem. Of course, I get
confused about those colons J you know, the dots that tell the player to go back
somewhere and go straight to the finish line…but unlike when my last piano
teacher would send me into panic anxiety attack, I was pleased and light
hearted when I finished Valentine. I set
my own rules and I do not get hung up with all the notations. I follow piano, super pianissimo, super
forte, lean heavily and break the keys loud, and “so help me God, don’t wake up
the neighbors calm down” notations. I do
all that but for the first time, I just played like this was the most natural
thing to do on a Thursday night, being reminded of my HB’s wise advice to me
this morning. He said, “Don’t worry , we will make sure your piano is tuned,
whatever is necessary for you to enjoy it but we cannot spend more money to
tune it to concert quality. "You are after all just an advanced beginner.” I laughed and
thanked him facetiously for the “compliment.” It is the truth. I ain't Mozart. Poco rubato all the way. Hey, music is awesome at this level, thank you very much!
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