The Christmas Season

The Christmas season was unkind to me this season. By December 17th I had to produce a politically important and but practically useless report to be presented at an Ethics Committee meeting. For the City's Management Christmas party, I had no wardrobe inspiration and wandered aimlessly around Del Amo Mall trying to find something festive. In the end, I purchased the wrong shade of too bright lip stick and a cute red sweater that was also worn by one of the Councilmen's wife (she looked better in it too). The actual Christmas Eve dinner and gift exchange went off well--the kids and Luke were all pleased with the gifts, and I also enjoyed a nice dinner at my sister's home in Encinitas. But by New Year's Day, I was sick. A week later, I was still sick. A few days after that, I got Pink eye and had to cancel my piano lesson.

All is not lost, however, as the Christmas season also brought me the challenge of learning some actual songs. I learned Silent Night and as of this evening, I have gained proficiency with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I was hoping that lessons in the new year might bring more song assignments, but it appears I'm back to more finger exercises.

"Really, you weren't ready for Rudolph." I frown inwardly as I hear these my piano teacher's pronouncement. "I gave you those songs because it was the holidays and I wanted to see how far you would get."

I am hoping that she will now compliment me on my surprising progress as I did manage to play the songs--though my struggle was clear. But instead she says, "You really don't know how to move your fingers to the notes--we'll get you there."

So in 2010, along with my resolution to always warm up before tennis, to try veganism, and to read more books and drink more water, I resolve to keep practicing my finger exercises so that I can get more songs to work on. So much more fun!

Stretching

I have always considered stretching therapeutic: done correctly, stretching should gently increase the fibers of your muscles extending your range of motion. When you stretch, your ability grows. Of course, it is wise to stretch regularly before pushing your body to do something strenuous. And wise people--in tune and aware of their body--will always stop before stretching beyond their capabilities and incurring the dreaded muscle micro-tears.

I published my last post on November 7th, almost a month ago. Shortly after that time, my body gave out completely. The worst of it happened during a piano lesson. I innocently turned my torso to face my teacher and I felt a twinge in my back just below my rib cage. Although I had not been feeling well before this lesson, I knew this twinge was different and that it signified real trouble. I got through my lesson and the rest of my evening, but when I woke up the next morning, I could not stand up properly. By the end of the day the spasm had lessened, but not before two trips to the chiropractor and some therapy to completely exhaust the muscle. I had a long discussion with Dr. Val about the possible cause of the problem and he attributed the spasms to a tennis match played over the weekend. Since the spasms started on a Tuesday night, I asked if the effect of the match wouldn't have been felt sooner--after all, I felt very good during the match and for the 48 hours that followed. Not unusual says the thoughtful and considerate doctor. "Exercise makes your body loose and then after rest, your body tightens up, and then you feel the effect." Yeah, maybe so.

I respect science and medicine. And I certainly respect practitioners who have devoted themselves to learning the art and science of medicine so that they can help in the healing of others. But for the ailments that trouble me--nothing life threatening, more pain management--I think that I have a large duty to reflect on my life and identify the possible culprits of pain.

I think it is no coincidence that my injuries became more severe when I began my piano practice. I had probably been pushing my body too hard before my practice began and I certainly underestimated the physicality involved with playing music. I also failed to consider how I would be affected by the mental stress of musical frustration. This new activity, which I ambitiously committed to practice every day--was the cliched straw that broke, or at least tweaked, my back. So while I stretch my mind to learn and grow as I practice the piano, I must also be careful to stretch my body and take care of myself so that my practice can continue.

Finding my way

"I can see you all love your mothers." My professor of Women's History went on to say, that on the whole, the oral histories that were assigned to us provided interesting reading; however, they did not provide the objective research she was hoping for. What a fool: what was she thinking anyway? Did she really think that we could interview our mothers and write histories that were neutral, objective, or dispassionate? Had she done the same assignment, would her years of academic training replace the voice of love that should echo in an oral history about her mother?

I love my mother. This point was underlined on my visit to see her and my father this weekend. She gave me yet another incredible painting for my house. I must have 20 of her works by now and I look forward to collecting another 20 if I'm lucky. From her family's humble beginnings, she found a way to emerge as an artist despite a family that did not always support her dreams. She found a way to produce amazing art while raising a family and remaining committed to the unpredictable path of marriage. She found a way to stay true to her conviction that Art is the ultimate expression of the world around us. Her house if filled with masterful work, each generation of paintings reflecting her view of her changing world. Her world is Art both visual and musical. My father has been steadfast at her side, both appreciating and supporting her talent. And after dinner on Saturday she sat down at her piano and began to play for my father and me.

I have often felt that the word "play" is overused. When I think of the word "play" I think of it in the sense of children playing in a sandlot with no worry of their surroundings or the outcome of their efforts. On the other hand, when I hear a referee telling professional tennis players to "play;" I think it would be more appropriate to tell the athletes to "work." And when I sit down to practice, I am not "playing," as this is, for me, serious mental work. But when I watched my mother on Saturday night, she did play the piano, finding her own enjoyment of the instrument. Her hands skipped over the keys making melodies and progressions to no particular song, but it was pleasing to my ear.

"You should try this," she encouraged, speaking to me while her hands continued to fly about the piano keys. "This" as she explains it is not yet conceivable to me. I can't imagine the moment when I can talk to someone while playing an instrument. But I listen on, "get a song you already know, and just mess with it a bit...you will notice that logically, there are only so many ways the notes can progress." I get my music books and play the little songs I have learned. I actually produce the songs with acceptable competence and both Mom and Dad seem to enjoy my new fascination with learning the piano. I show my Dad the little music test at the end of Chapter One; and though he hasn't read a music book for 60 years, he is able to name all of the notes and symbols correctly. We have a nice discussion about music theory and improvisation. Mom asks what does my husband think about my piano practice. "He is very supportive," I say. She asks whether or not he also plays the piano and I say that yes, he does. And he is very much like my mother, he plays the piano with no worry. He doesn't know that certain fingers should play certain keys, or maybe he doesn't care. He just finds a way to play the tune that is floating around in his imagination. I say that his method is quite a departure for me, I don't think that I could learn as he does. "Ah," my mother says,"he is a fuzzy thinker and you are a linear thinker." I suppose.

Music is my husband's passion and evidence of his obsession pervades our house: music is almost always playing; he constantly searches the Internet for new and innovative artists; Cd's and boxed sets turn up intermittently as he has picked them up to find a new tune or to review the liner notes. When I was cleaning on Friday, I came across a lonely boxed set of Burt Bacharach sitting on the coffee table. I took a break from dusting to read some of Burt's history. "I always envied my mother," he says, "because she could play the piano by ear....keep studying she would say and I'll teach you. But there is no teaching someone to play by ear. You either hear it or you don't." Another quote of interest to me, "I think all the technical study, the solfeggio and learning how to be able to read music and write it down--it's all very helpful.....I think you learn the rules so you can kind of break the rules." These sentiments reflect my own goals for musical study--and I envision myself pursuing technical competence over the next several years.

So both my mother and my husband have in their own way reached a destination that is still very far away for me. Some day, I will reach the point where I can truly play; however, for my linear and literal brain, I require a teacher and study-- and lots of it! To learn something new will force me to consider my teacher's point of view as well as the views of other musicians and artists. But to learn as an adult affords me an additional luxury in that I, alone, can choose my course of study. In Madeline Burser's wonderful book, The Art of Practicing, , she encourages new students to "meet themselves"

All of us know know we need guidance in our musical journey. When we go to a teacher we hope that he or she will appreciate our sincerity of heart, and that the discipline we learn will enable us to express ourselves from the heart.....Each person's talent is unique and some are more gifted than others, but an intense desire to play well indicates that music is already inside the person, pressing toward the surface and needing to come out. Know this, and take heart from it as you make your particular journey with music.

I am in the process of meeting my musical self--to expand my intellect and to find a new form of self expression. I may begin my musical study in a very elementary and conventional way, with the clowns of Ada Richter's children's book explaining new concepts in music. But I will remember all of the views of my mother, my husband, my sister, my teacher, and all of the other artists I engage during my study. And when I learn to really "play" the piano, my music will be the expression and synthesis of all of the views that are right for me.

Theory Papers

On the backside of Theory Paper Number One, in the lower right corner next to an illustration of a grand piano, I read the following words: "The Piano is a wonderful solo instrument; it combines melody, harmony and rhythm....and a wide variety of tonal powers. There are eighty-eight keys on the piano keyboard and these eighty-eight keys produce all the different tones of the full orchestra, from the very lowest notes to the highest." The exercises contained on Theory Paper Number One include writing notes on the keyboard; tracing the piano keys; writing notes on the staffs, tracing the treble and base clefs; and writing numbers on the fingers of the right and left hand. As noted in previous blogs, I have difficulty reading and remembering notes, so I immediately see the value of the completing these worksheets--I even write my name, the date, and my age. I am very happy with this two-sided piece of paper first copyrighted in 1944 by Montgomery Music in Toronto. But I'm not convinced that anything on this sheet is actually theoretical.

I do have some theories about music. I think there are two very different paths for the beginning musician. One type of student might be interested in pursuing technical mastery by learning increasingly difficult pieces and interpreting all of the complex notes and time signatures and styles. Perhaps this is how many of the classical composers approached music. On the other hand, many of the musicians I know don't read music at all. They seem happy to conjuring melodies through trial and error and finding chords that work well together. It seems to me that much of popular music is composed in this manner, with very simple, yet pleasing even powerful melodies and rhythms.

But I am a beginner, and maybe my theories about music further underline my musical naivete. Two sides to every story so says the cliche. Yet maybe two theories are not enough. The more I learn about music, the more carefully I begin to listen to music. When I listen to a piece like John Adams' work, "The Chairman Dances," I am amazed at the complexity of the orchestrations, but I am most moved by a break where the music slows to a gentle waltz. The seemingly simple notes, quietly and slowly played brings tears to my eyes. I begin to understand that to categorize technical brilliance and creative imagination as opposites would be simplistic and unfair.

There are eighty-eight keys on a piano, providing a range of tonal power found within an entire orchestra. Perhaps there are eighty-eight ways to understand and learn about music. I know that I am in book one and page one of my Theory Papers; I can't wait to get through the first eighty-eight pages.

It's hard.....

I have to say, in the beginning, it was easier. Sometimes I used just one hand for the whole tune or maybe I used two hands, but both hands were playing the same note, which is pretty much the same as using one hand. And in the beginning, the little tunes usually involved a scale so that the notes were right next to each other. Thus, I didn't actually have to process the notes (i.e. read the music) as much as move my fingers in succession. Then, I as detailed a few weeks ago, the very very simple tunes became merely simple, and I had to actually get my hands to play different notes at the same time: it was hard.

As with any subject, the more you learn, the harder it gets. And again, hard is a relative term. One of my friends sent me a link to a video performed by a mutual acquaintance and she was amazing. The performer seemed to be intensely focused on the music while at the same time, her hands moved effortlessly across the keys, almost as if her hands were separate animals running to their own delight. I can't conceive of having that kind of coordination and brain processing power. I can't play a half note and a quarter note at the same time, well, maybe if the the left hand plays the half note and the right hand gets to play to quarter notes--somehow that is easier than the reverse. I told my piano teacher that it is because my right hand is a more talented animal than my left hand. She smiled. She told me to try again and then she seemed amazed that I couldn't master this simple feat of coordination, "It's like rubbing your tummy and patting your head." She is obviously not reading my blog.

But I do enjoy the challenge. There are certain parts of each exercise that appeal to me or that I find pretty. Sometimes, I practice these pretty parts to excess with just my right hand. I do this because it is easy, and it is pretty, and sometimes, that is enough for me. Tonight; however, as I played only the treble part of the "March of the Space Patrol," and pretty as it is, I found myself itching to play the base part too. Without both hands, the music is incomplete and even though I struggle and mangle the notes, using both hands does provide the needed texture. After struggling for awhile, I go back to last week's assignments and what was difficult last week now seems easier. So for now, I will push forward with both hands because I know that deep down, that is the only way to progress and find true musical satisfaction. And when I get too confounded by the difficulty in mastering asynchronous dual hand coordination, I will remember my sister Carol's words of encouragement, "It's hard, so if it seems hard, that's why."

A blue day

While practicing is never easy, I usually find it pleasant. Today, not so much. I struggled--nothing new--but I was also impatient. Instead of my normal mental refrain,"this will get easier;" today I sighed with exasperation, "will this ever get easier?" Add a word, a little punctuation and everything changes.

For this week, I have several exercises to practice. A few carryovers from last week: "Mary had a little lamb", played with G7, and C major chords; "Jingle Bells", again with chords; a little ditty called "Mr. Kangaroo" in which I practice staccato; there are two other tiny unmemorable songs, so much so I can't remember their names. As a warm-up for my practice I have technical exercises each entitled with the theme of the exercise. For example, "Walking," consists of 1/4 note scales; "Jumping," 1/8 note scales, etc. As for "Deep Breathing"--I'm not so sure what the theme is here, but I notice that I am barely breathing as I play it. Perhaps partial suffocation is part of my problem.

My teacher has written down a few suggestions that I should remember as I'm practicing. While practicing,"Mr. Kangaroo," I should focus on keeping my hands together. For "Jumping," I should be playing as fast as I can. Of course, in every exercise, she stresses the importance of counting. She has tried to correct my posture so that my hands are curled and I can strike the piano keys without moving my non-playing fingers. I try to incorporate this finger form as I practice and it sets me back. I fumble badly trying to play tunes that were easy for me last week.

I know that learning is rarely linear. The old cliche, "one step forward, two steps backward," clearly applies to my attempt to learn music and to play the piano. Usually, I can employ a positive attitude to get me past the setbacks on onto something new. But its been a bad week. My kitty died, my back and neck are such that I can't play tennis or swim. Then I got a bladder infection.

Well, at least tomorrow is another day and maybe it will be a green day, or a yellow day--hopefully not a blue day or the dreaded gray day.

Can you walk and chew gum.......

Tonight I met my worst piano fear: my hands had to work independently to play different notes at the same time. Of course, to execute this cruel task, I should ideally be reading two different lines of music and somehow conveying the instructions down to my waiting fingertips. What can I say; I look for ways to cheat!

Actually, I have always cheated; well, at least for the three weeks I have been taking lessons. It's not that I don't read the notes, but I try to find ways to simplify the assimilation of information to my poor tired brain. There is always the tried and true method of practicing with one hand, and then with the other, eventually playing both hands at the same time. But I confess, I am partial to reading the treble staff. I have relied on trying to pick out the symmetry of the two staffs. If the pattern of the two lines is the same, then both hands are playing the same notes. So while I am reading the treble staff, I am merely noticing that the notes are the same on the base staff. Tonight, however, my feeble brain lurched as I realized that the two lines were different --what a horror!

I actually had to get a pencil and write down the letters next to the notes--evidence of how poorly I read music. I console myself: I am, after all, an absolute beginner so I try to set my expectations a reachable level. I look closely at the notes on the two staffs. They are half notes, so at least I can proceed slowly and still remain true to the music. On the treble, the notes are E, D, C. On the base, the notes are G, F, E. Using just my right hand, I can easily play the E, D, C notes. Then, using just my left hand, I can easily play the G, F, E. But trying to play both together results in a brain fart and muddled keystrokes--what a mess. I try it a few more times. I get cranky, what beginner wouldn't get cranky? Then I see it--a way to cheat! I notice a pattern: both hands will play the same pattern of notes, that is three notes in descending order--only the starting point is different. For some reason, this realization is helpful, calming. I push down on the keys with my right middle finger and my left thumb and then the rest of the notes come easily.

Perhaps someday, I will gain competency at reading music. I will look at the notes and my fingers will be able to translate the c, or the d, and alert my brain to those notes while at the same time, my brain can churn out a steady rhythm in accordance with the proscribed time signature. But until that happy day arrives, I will cheat by finding patterns that will make music more manageable for me.

Perhaps, cheating in music, especially in beginners, is not all that unusual. At the very least, I hope it is not a mortal sin.