A Brief Muscial Biography

Now that a few details of my "outer" biography have been written--no more than absolutely necessary for this blog, I would hope--I can turn to a few words of "inner" biography, in this case a sketch of how I developed an interest in music. Let me be clear: I am old, and not very interested in expressing my feelings in print--I am, however, interested in expressing Bach's feelings (and intellect) with my hands. As I wrote in the previous blog, the purpose of writing briefly about me is to demonstrate that even the (relatively) musically ungifted can derive much pleasure--and wisdom--from music, and, with practice, can reach the hearts and minds of others. The purpose is to inspire you. Music is far too wonderful to leave its practice solely to professionals.
We were, as stated previously, a very unmusical family. Although I can't remember ever hearing someone play a piano in public, I must have heard such on television. By the fifth grade, I was asking my mother to get me a piano. She didn't expect that, and did not know how to respond. We were poor, but probably could have gotten a second-hand beat-up piano if I persisted. Since this was completely beyond what was familiar to her, she purchased for me a cloth keyboard, believing that this was merely a passing fancy on my part, unworthy of any investment on hers. I tried to practice on it; even this so delighted me that I proudly showed it to my fifth-grade teacher. Nothing came of it; I returned to concentration on survival, not leisure activities. And I did indeed survive. Years later--I had already started puberty which enabled music to go more deeply--I had a phonograph that played 45s. I enjoyed some of the popular music records we had and remember playing a tune called "Lorna Dune" which affected me deeply--In fact, I remember playing it for a friend of my mother's to see if it would affect him deeply; it didn't. Now, about 13, alone and moody in my room, I came across a vinyl recording--it was rose-colored--of the Overture to William Tell. I had no idea how it got in the collection we had. I put it on. The cello introduction sent a shock down my spine. Then came that beautiful major-minor melody. I didn't know what was happening--I burst into tears. The black and white film of my life had entered a new, unknown phase of living color. (I listened to the overture again recently, and, although I still like it, the intensity was gone--It has been transferred to the works of other composers, and is as deep as ever. No, I'm not musically dead, far from it--I heard a recording by the Blind Boys of Alabama on the radio recently--they were singing, a cappella, a Gospel song entitled "This might be the last time."--I was moved, to use Yeats's words, to the deep heart's core.) Later--I was about 14--I heard excerpts from the Magic Flute. I got the records from the library and played it every night for weeks--I still have most of the score memorized, and, on sleepless nights, can play it in my head.
By this time I was so fascinated by music I begged for a piano. An old upright was finally mine, at the age of 15. Oh, but we were such an ignorant family--I say this as a fact and without bitterness. One of my friends played the piano a bit and recommended his teacher, a Belgian immigrant, Miss Johansen.
Miss Johansen was a trip. She was unmarried; she was a large woman, who was pleasant enough but thought a bit too highly of herself. She claimed that her teacher--or perhaps one before that--had been taught by Theodore Leschetizky, who had been taught by Czerny, who had been taught by Beethoven. She considered herself to be a direct--well, indirect--link to that great composer. How could this rather silly woman, who always wore bright red lipstick a good deal of which was always on her protruding teeth, be a great teacher? Well, she wasn't and I was too ignorant to know. She had no concept of legato, etc. etc and tried to teach me things far too difficult--she never bothered with basics. It was a mess. So I never progressed far at all. (I remember her demonstrating for me the second theme of the first movement of Beethoven's Pathetique sonata; she played it as a very slow adagio, and hummed along. By that time, I had heard a recording, and told her it should be played, well, a bit faster. Without missing a beat, figuratively that is, she said that there were different ways to play it authentically. Oh, Miss Johansen, I never learned anything, or hardly anything from you about the pulse of music and its expression! If I were a George Gershwin or even a Jerry Herman, I would have broken away on my own. I didn't trust myself musically; I needed a decent teacher badly. So I gave up.
I became an avid listener to music, and amassed a huge collection of records.
When my son was born, I, who now could afford a decent piano, bought one. He would have the opportunities I lacked. His teacher was indeed very good--by this time I could tell--but my son was an indifferent student. After several years of playing--he played the Raindrop Prelude at a recital very competently--he gave it up. He hardly ever touches the piano now. Was I disappointed? You bet; but I have learned to accept things as they are and not expect one's child to fulfill one's own fantasies. I am happy to say, I let my son Phil go his own way. He has become quite a gifted industrial designer.
Suddenly I became 60! I have a friend who is a pianist and composer. I decided it's never too late and began to take lessons from her. I am nearly sixty-five now; I've been taking lessons for about four years. What a new dimension it has added to my life! No, I'll never be good, but, at sixty-five, that is not much of a concern. And I have indeed made a lot of progress. An example: at a house at which I was a dinner party guest, I played my own version of a Broadway tune. Those present--no musical sophisticates, I might add--were convinced that I was a professional pianist! It is a pleasure to reach others musically, something new for me. It's working for me, dear reader; if you are either an avid listener of music or a listener and instrumentalist, I hope it is working for you!