EPTMy mother loved classical music. During my birth she played a CD of Beethoven (this may end up as an ironic and/or learning point). We had a huge collection of music-- all classical-- and my mother played it endlessly. In the morning to wake us up, when we were doing chores, when we were eating, when we were playing, at night to help us sleep.
When I was about 5, my father taught me to read a few notes. I learned you could find out what any note was by counting up the lines and spaces from middle C. I would walk to the church where my dad worked (1 block from the parsonage), and painstakingly find notes on my mother's harp music. I took my favorite piece of her's-- Pachelbel's Canon-- and I learned every note of it. At this time I could not actually count music at all, and I played it very badly. But I loved it, and I played it over and over (I think my parents got sick of it, especially since they knew how badly I was playing it).
Both of them only play very basic piano. My mom plays the harp mostly, and my dad the guitar. So when I was about 6 and a half, my parents signed me up for piano lessons with the local church pianist. I hated my lessons for about the next 3 years. My teacher made me play pieces I did not think were music. I wanted to play something pretty. Something with more notes. Something like the music I heard every day in our house. My teacher was not the best pianist, but she was very, very strict about technicalities. I learned to count and follow notation very well (not the most advanced stuff, but all the fundamentals). I hated piano for these years though, because I did not like what I was playing, and my parents made me practice at least 30 minutes a day.
Around the age of 9, I moved, and my parents found me a new teacher-- Ms. Stenlund. Ms. Stenlund was almost 90 then, and also almost blind. Her mother was terribly abusive, and when she was 4 her grandmother took her and her sister in. She began violin at 4, and piano at 6. Ever since she was a teenager she taught music. She was one of those people who was very gifted at playing (by virtue of so much time), but who was an extraordinary teacher. Teaching was just one of those talents she had.
It was around this time that I really began to get into what I thought was 'real' music. I improved very rapidly because of my new teacher, and also because I wanted to spend more time practicing since I actually was enjoying it.
When I got to middle school (6th grade), my music teacher, Mrs. Lovejoy asked us if anyone in the class played an instrument. I said I had played piano since I was six, so she immediately asked me if I wanted to accompany my choir class. I told her yes, even though I didn't know what the fuck I was doing (lol kids). She gave me the sheet music and told me to go practice it.
At this time I didn't actually know how to learn music on my own. I relied on being taught the basics at my lesson, and then going home and practicing. I took the choir music to my lesson with Ms. Stenlund, and she told me she wasn't going to teach that kind of music, because anyone could play that.
I had told Mrs. Lovejoy I would accompany the choir, and I was too proud to say I couldn't or didn't know how to learn the music. I sat down and started learning it as best I could. This was the start of two years devoted to music.
I had a lot of free time during school-- my teachers would let me test out of class by taking the end of book/unit tests, and if I got an A I could go to the library and read, or work on independent projects related to the subject. However, because I was doing pretty well with my own choir class, Mrs. Lovejoy recruited me to play for all of the choirs-- 3 per grade, and show choir. During school, I spent almost the entire day in the choir room, reading a book when Mrs. Lovejoy was talking, or playing music when they were singing.
I started arriving to school an hour early to practice in the music room, or to practice with the show choir. I stayed after school sometimes two hours to practice more before concerts. I would go home, eat supper, and play the piano more. I would practice my classical music, and then I would practice the choir music, always with the metronome ticking away, and every time I messed up I would start over. (I'm a perfectionist. Eventually I got over this habit to some extent and learned to recover from mistakes, but I still liked to practice this way.)
In seventh grade this continued, but I also began to accompany the orchestra and jazz band (I still cannot play jazz for the life of me. t.t Eventually gave up on it, even though I like listening to it). Our school did a musical, and I played for that. I got quite sick during this time, I think from overworking, and had to stay home a week and a half with strep and a bad sinus infection. I still made my father drive me in to practice every morning and every evening, and at home I practiced all day. Music was all I did.
Towards the end of the school year the show choir did a Beach Boy's song + Show Spoiler +
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IEm_Yc7Ehc - listen to the underlying bass chord speed-- then imagine playing that a bit faster (very repetitive hand motion) for about twice that long, because my choir teacher reallllly loved that song and got an extended version
I didn't complain to anyone at the time because I didn't think much of it, but by the end of that summer it was impeding my classical music with Ms. Stenlund. When I spoke with her about it, she was concerned because of her own issues. She developed arthritis that got worse over the years I knew her, and the only time she played the piano anymore was the day after her bi-weekly acupuncture, which she said was the only thing that helped. She told me I needed to cut back on the amount of time I was playing, or I could do more permanent damage.
The next year I started high school (my parents got tired of me testing out of classes and not learning anything except music, so I skipped a grade). I ended up skipping a year of Spanish, 3 years of math, and 2 years of English. (science and history don't really count cause they don't teach you anything new all the way through, just with more details) I was overloaded with classwork and the task of making new friends.
I spoke with the orchestra teacher, and the choir teacher. They both gave me sheet music to take a look at. When I got home and looked at it though, as well as the practice schedules, I knew I could not do it. The time commitment was too much for my hands, and too much for my other classes. If I wanted to do the music I would have to drop into lower level classes, and that didn't fix anything about my pain. I devoted all my practice time to classical piano instead.
While I was in high school my dad did not have work (only little jobs here and there to pay bills while he looked for a position at another church). Ms. Stenlund taught me and my siblings for free because she knew we could not afford it. She began to talk to me about the possibilities of a musical career as well. I was playing at a Junior-Virtuoso level-- the level where you win a few hundred instead of a few thousand at a competition. She told me I had the ability to practice my way into a good music school. I could certainly become a music teacher. With enough hours and the right teachers, I could possibly become a pianist and play for a living. But-- maybe that would not be possible. What if I got to school and my wrists became too bad and I had to have surgery-- and what if that was not enough and I just had to stop all together.
I moved again then, and when my family looked for teachers for me they were quite expensive-- $150/hr. My father told me they could not pay for lessons for me any longer unless I planned to go to music school and make that my career. My practice at that time was struggling because of my wrist and hand pain. I knew it would get worse if I invested more time and practice into it. I was at an hour a night now, and that was not enough really. I also had many interests and I did not want to go to a music school. Even if I studied music I wanted a school where I would be able to study many other things as well.
Throughout the rest of high school, I worked, studied very hard on my own for AP tests (crappy schools ftw >.>), and I played piano as best I could. I slowly stopped learning new pieces. It took so much time, and I did not have very much time to play every day before my wrists started to hurt. I played pieces I already knew, because they were comforting and made me happy to play.
When I got to college, I tried to continue playing. There is a piano in my dorm. At night sometimes I would go and play very soft music with the damper pedal on when I felt depressed. Soon though the piano made me feel worse. I knew I was a much worse player than I had been after so long without practice, or a good teacher, or pushing myself to learn something new. I even played the pieces I knew sloppily.
I have not touched a piano in about a year now. Today I was unpacking my things in my new room. I unpacked my old music. It made me cry because when I look at it I know I could not sit down and play it now. My two favorite pieces of all were in there. Neither of them I ever finished learning.
I learned to play piano as an art and as a discipline. I would work on one piece for months. You must practice everything perfectly. If you practice it incorrectly, it is very hard to unlearn it. (It is like suddenly changing all your hotkeys after years and years of use-- why BW players might still hit O for overlord even after practice with sc2 hotkeys.) When I learned a new piece, I listened to how it should sound. Then I sat down and meticulously learned the fingering and meter for each hand separately. Then I went back and learned both hands together measure by measure. Then an entire line, then a page, then the whole piece. Then it was finessing articulation.
It is very difficult to have the patience for this. It is also very rewarding. Once you are done, something that was once hard is now effortless. You no longer have to focus on playing the music, but can enjoy it instead. You feel like you have accomplished something large for all the time and effort you spent working on it.
When I look at the music I want to play now, I feel defeated. If I were to sit down and learn it a few minutes at a time-- measure by measure-- I do not think it would matter. My wrists do not last longer than about 15 minutes on happy birthday tunes. They begin to hurt almost right away when I play something complex. How could I ever enjoy the whole piece now?
It is really hard for me to communicate my sadness. It is something I did for so long. There will be new opportunities, yes. I have survived the past year not playing. If you watch this video:
you will see he is in love with his music. It is both causing his emotion, and also communicating it. When I would play, that is how I felt. Music would come out of my fingers, and I would let it wash over me. I loved my music. It is something that brings me joy and peace when I am unhappy. It is something I worked so hard at for a very long time.
I want to play this (3 parts, same piece):
It is half-learned.
I could try to learn the violin again, or perhaps see if the harp causes me pain. I can play very simple things on the piano still. But it's not the same. It's like giving a paralyzed person a wheelchair; doesn't make them miss walking any less.
It was not my dream to become a professional pianist. My music is a passion though. It's something I'm in love with. When I hear it, it makes me very sad. I want to be able to surround myself with music, and practice whenever I want for as long as I want until I can play my music again. I guess that is my dream now.
