Pianissimo

 

Photo credit: deviantart.com

 

When I was younger, I studied to play the piano.  I think my mother had dreams of me playing for the church choir since I misled everyone into thinking that I wanted to become a priest when I grew up.  With her best intentions at heart, she enrolled me in a piano program under the private tutelage of my aunt.  I am not sure if it was really my “lifelong dream” to become a priest that led me to learning music or just the over-eagerness of an eight year old in playing random music by banging the keys of the keyboard hoping to produce a harmony.  You know how kids are, they see somebody do something phenomenal and they want to be like them in a heartbeat, without putting much thought that it actually needs hours of patience and practice to perfect a simple task- like learning Beethoven’s Fur Elise. 

 

My mom took a big risk into our young music career as she bought a real piano at home.  It was a modest piano, not the grand piano where you can open the whole case and reveal the entire soul of the instrument, which I was secretly hoping for, but our house did not have adequate space to fit this dream of mine.  In the beginning, I saw the piano as a toy I could play with. 

Initially, she enrolled me and my sister in a piano class which was held every Saturday morning.  And as you know, Saturday mornings was (and I think still is) the primetime TV block for any human being 10 years old and below.   This meant that I would miss an hour of Super Friends, or Plastic Man or Uncle Bob’s Lucky 7 Club  (man, I have so much hang up about this show).  When my other two younger brothers came at an age when they can focus for about 10 minutes and read basic words, my mom enrolled them too.  By this time, my sister and I have been way ahead of the lessons, so imagine my brothers’ frustrations when we could already play Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star and all they were allowed to hit was single-note keys that didn’t resemble any song at all.  My brothers, rebel that they were, did not tolerate losing an hour of play time on a Saturday morning.  They would just disappear after getting up from bed to go out and play with the neighbors and would not return until lunch time (which was their curfew for the morning).  And since my sister and I were the sacrificial lambs in the musical department, my mother just let go of making my other two brothers attend the lessons.  In the end, my sister and I were kind of stuck at playing the piano. 

 

Believe me, it was so hard for me to stay faithful to this musical calling. I actually felt that I would not last long enough to learn how to play a church song, which was the ultimate goal.  The hour felt like forever to me, which was also my fault in a way. 

 

The lessons were divided into three parts.  The first one was finger exercises by playing Hannon repeatedly.  This was my most hated section because it felt redundant and the sounds produced did not resemble a song but only repeated notes.  The only way to move to the next piece was to execute one exercise without any errors.  This applied to any musical piece we were going to play. 

The second part of the lesson was a graded book by John Thompson, with ascending levels of difficulty.  The farthest I’ve reached was the third grade because by that time, they thought I could graduate to learning to play the chords so I could start learning to play church songs which was mostly accompanied by chords. 

The third part was my favorite because it was more contemporary and we had some free hand in choosing the songs we would like to play.  This was typically simple arrangements of popular music- to which I can enumerate the memorable ones that stuck to me: All I Ask of You from Phantom of the Opera,  A Whole New World from Aladdin, and Memory from Cats.  The disclaimer here was that these were not the original compositions but simplified versions of the song, so they were still pretty basic.  I remember my Tita would always haunt me to play All I Ask of You because she was a big Phantom fan and I would willingly oblige even though my execution sounded like a struggling fish out of water gasping for air and pleading to make it all stop. 

 

But before starting any musical piece, we would read the notes verbally.  The part that I did not understand about myself was that I knew the notes and could read them out any time I wanted but I just stared at the music sheet and try to excruciatingly stretch the time and slowly enunciate a wrong answer only to fail at the attempt in annoying my teacher.  And kudos to my teacher, she was so very patient with me as I would have slammed by face into the keyboard if I were teaching myself.  The fact that I knew the answer but tried to prolong the session did matters worse.  As if it would shorten the hour I was studying piano.  No matter what I did, an hour was still an hour- a whole six minutes of torture for me. 

 

As for practicing, I was lazy.  I only practiced the day before my lessons.  And this was because we were forced to.  If given the choice, I would have been eating chips in front of the TV as a protest.  But eventually, I would force my lazy-ass self to rehearse, or at least pretend to rehearse for the upcoming lesson than listen to constant nagging from my mom.  So, my unpracticing efforts would turn out futile.  So much for the chips and TV. 

 

Fast forward into the future, I could say that I was decent at playing the keyboards.  The ultimate goal of me playing for church and accompanying the choir was fulfilled.  At least that was a box I could check in my #lifegoals, however with a small caveat.  I take it back, it is not a small caveat but there is a whole story involved in my journey to music, hence I will come them The Piano Chronicles.   I will tell them in series. 

If you also notice, I said “decent” and “keyboards”.  I am just average and I will not brag about my skills in music.  I do not consider playing the keyboards by using chords as life-changing, mind-blowing, and earth-shattering talent.  And if you happen to know someone who is dying to play the piano, don’t let them learn to play the chords because it will undo everything they have learned about music.  It will make any kid lazy.  At least that is the case for me. 

 

I envy the people who have inherent skills in music.  I can read notes, alright, and hit the correct keys when I see it but again, I am on that border where you can say: “he can pass”. 

Now, I have given up on my childhood dream of impressing the crap out of anybody through playing music.  I attempted to learn the violin and became somewhat good at it only to find out that I was allergic to rosin- that chalky object you rub on the bow that is made of horsehair so it can glide on the string harmoniously. 

It’s like the musical gods are telling me, “Why don’t you just give up on this music fantasy of yours?  At least you know how to play All I Ask You”.  Which I still do.  The only piece I remember by heart. That and a church hymn called I Will Sing Forever.  But the way I play these pieces will not make anybody stand up and rave how wonderful I am.  No Sir. 

 

Well from time to time, I still tinker with my digital keyboard and pretend that I am great at something when I am by myself: think of it as my way of singing in the shower.  I somewhat imagine that I am in middle of Carnegie Hall in my solo concert, playing The Grand Piano while singing a bad-ass Sara Bareilles song, and thinking that I am phenomenal at what I am doing. 

 

Suddenly I wake up from my dream after hearing my squawking voice and my mediocre piano skills; and then I realize that I am only average. 

 

 

The Piano Chronicles

July 22, 2020