It has taken me a long time to write something here. And like many of the posts on this website, this too has been written on a train. I'll type it up when I'm back at a computer next. Today's travelling time was 8 hours and 10 minutes, and the journey would be a lot less bearable had I not brought two of my favourite "letters" volumes - those of Glenn Gould and Mozart. I'm not a Mozart "groupie" as such, but I always find the urge to dip into his letters from time to time, and they never fail to make me laugh, cry and get completely inspired. Though it always feels wrong reading his most private letters, ones that were never intended for my eyes.
In both Gould's letters and Mozart's, there are frequent mentions of the sort of pianos they were playing on.I don't need to go into much detail with Gould's love for his Steinway CD318 piano and also that battered Chickering as I've already spoken about both pianos before. Gould also speaks about his experiences with pianos in foreign countries and how he coped with all the challenges that came with playing on less than perfect (in some cases, downright brutal) instruments. It has always puzzled me when concert pianists dead and alive develop such a fixation on one particular piano, or make of pianos that they are reluctant to play anything else. It also irritates me beyond belief when young up and coming pianists start throwing tantrums if a Steinway concert grand is not exactly what they want - I witnessed an 18 year old young Canadian pianist yell and scream at her father (her manager) and concert promoters because she wasn't happy with the piano she had just played on. Insane behaviour! I've always enjoyed the challenge of playing on ANY piano, anywhere, at any time. At concerts, I would avoid practising on the piano of choice too much beforehand, simply because I got a bit of a kick out of sitting down and not knowing what to expect and then making friends with the instrument through the music I was playing. I realise, I'm the insane one, but then again, I have always viewed the piano recital or concert as a way to express myself, irrespective of the kind of piano I'm playing, or the acoustic in the hall, or even the lighting for that matter.
Having said that, I don't think I comprehended the full extent of my love affair with one particular piano, a Yamaha upright that I found hidden at the back of the piano store many years ago, and one that I insisted on buying even though it wasn't for sale, or even on display. As soon as I sat down and played it, I knew that this piano was one in a million - far more beautiful than even some of the baby grand pianos I had played. More importantly, I knew it was a toughie - it wouldn't go out of tune very often and would be a good match for my hours of practice as well as for my pupils. Sure enough, as the years went on, I would only need to tune it maybe once every 16-18 months, if that. Sometimes I would only tune it as a precautionary measure - it was that special! But like all materialistic things, it is important to not get "too" attached, so when life's circumstances dictated that I had to sell it, and relocate, I did it without getting too sentimental. It was nice to know that it would be going to a deserving piano student (a late starter teenager) and I had far greater worries and problems to cry about rather than the loss of a piano, which could be replaced at a later stage. So I sold it, used the money to clear some of my short-term debt and disappeared off the face of the developed world.
For the first year or two, I had so much to cope with - a serious illness, adjusting to life in India after being away since I was 18, and quite a bit of upheaval caused by these changed circumstances.
My radio programs brought me immense joy and creative satisfaction, and also took up so much of my time, along with working 9-5 after years of being a full-time musician/teacher - so the piano, that piano or any piano was far from my mind. To some extent, I think I made a very conscious decision to suppress all thoughts related to piano playing - I packed away all my music scores and books - boxes and boxes of them, and gave most away to the library and one of my adult students. In India, it was easy to suppress, because there were no pianos to be found anywhere in the city that I was living in. Plus, I was living a very simple life - rising at dawn, sleeping by 8 p.m. (electricity failures for a few hours each day mean one uses the natural light far more than one does in the west), looking after the menagerie of stray dogs and cats, working, cooking, reading, meditating and making radio programs. It was easy to assume a sort of new identity and a very important time in my life - stripped away from everything that defined me. Without my piano, music books, students, I did not know who or what I was. I've written about the experiences I had with people who knew me and "friends" who stopped contacting me once they had heard I was not giving concerts or doing anything music related. Even that was something I coped with, and took it as one of life's important lessons.
On a side note, I will never forget how excited I was when I first left India to go to America, and when I set foot into the music conservatory with all the practice rooms filled with concert grands! That alone seemed like a good enough reason to audition, to leave India and pursue a life of music, irrespective of the fact that I would always need to work two or three jobs to support myself if I was to do this.
Even as a child, I did not get a piano until after I had finished my Grade 8, after I played my first concerto in public - when I was about fourteen years old. Most of my childhood consisted of 5 a.m. starts - I'd go to my piano teacher's house before school, she would lock me in, go to Mass and then two hours later, I would go to school, having done my daily practise. So fast forward fourteen years...being "without" a piano should not have been so traumatic, given that I had never been born into a house which already had one!
But I realise now, that it was traumatic. After nearly two years of not even touching a piano, I had the chance to play one some months ago - I was finally living in a city where pianos aren't rare, mysterious objects. As soon as I sat down at the piano, I found it excruciatingly difficult to focus on the task at hand - read through some easy Schumann piece - because I was so completely overwhelmed by the emotions I was feeling, reuniting with an instrument that has been such a vital part of my life. In many ways, it was like seeing someone you were in love with for a lifetime and attempting to converse with them again after not having any contact with them for a long time. It was an out of body experience, in one sense. I never felt like I was physically present, and the notes on the page might as well have not been there. My fingers trembled violently, I could hear my foot shake non stop at the pedal, my eyes were glazed over and my mind filled with all the questions, ideas, memories. I had devoted my life to playing music in front of people, and also in later years, sharing my musical knowledge to adult and amateur students. For the FIRST TIME, I could honestly say I knew how they must have felt. For that evening, sitting there at the piano, I honestly believed I had forgotten EVERYTHING - from reading music to actually playing it. I had suppressed my grief at being forced to give up something that meant so much to me, something that was my entire identity, and being reunited with it was just too painful.
The ordeal of the previous few hours was made worse by the fact that I had to have this most personal experience in front of another person, a student at the music college who was possibly the least empathetic person I've ever come into contact with, though I didn't see it at the time, as my head was spinning so much. Later that night, I replayed the events of the previous few hours in my head, and was glad of one thing. I didn't feel any anger. As in, I didn't feel any bitterness or resentment. I wasn't thinking along the lines of "two years ago, I could toss off any of the Bach concerti from memory, and sight-read pretty much anything, now I can't even play a childishly easy piece." There was none of that. I think somewhere deep down I had not lost perspective totally. I was having a horribly difficult experience but it had nothing to do with my actual musical ability.
And that is why I feel so, so vindicated - that I chose to devote my twenties, and most of my professional career as a pianist to helping older "amateur" (hate that word) pianists. My first piano professor had warned me at our third lesson "stop running around teaching adults who can't play a note, you're wasting time with such nonsense." Lovely woman, wasn't she? I did the opposite. I would practice for my conservatoire exams, competitions and spend all my spare time working with absolute beginners, or anyone who had not played for years and wanted to resume playing. And I speak the truth when I say that nearly all the advanced adult students I taught over the years could perform in front of an audience to a superb standard, something which I never saw that professor do! So much for "amateur" pianists and "professional" pianists.
I'm digressing, but then again, I always do when writing here. I was actually making the point that even the most out-of-practise adult pianist never really forgets. And that all it takes for anyone to play the piano to a very high standard is a true love of music, focused practice and a teacher who is willing to bring out the student's full potential - through sound technical help but also through empathy and sincerity.
I'm still on the road a lot. Radio, my "other" love, takes up a lot of my time, as does living in the real world, making ends meet and saving tigers and old dogs (!). But I have been playing much more these past few months and my piano no longer lives at home. In fact, I don't have just one piano anymore. I now have a menagerie of pianos to choose from - a beautiful grand in a tiny church, a battered old Broadwood upright (similar to the piano I finally acquired in India) in the local school hall, and Clavinovas, Steinways, Yamahas, Kawais all thrown into the mix depending on where I'm staying and whether I've spent all my money for the day on food and the Big Issue. Adults and amateur pianists still seem to find me (just a few days ago, I spent two hours at a piano with a frail, elderly Dutch woman who had not played in over forty years - she knows and loves her French music) for I still love working with those who have all the talent and enthusiasm but who have also had to take different paths in life.
One of the highlights of my time in Ireland was the fact that two of my adult students played in the National Concert Hall (similar to playing the Wigmore, for instance). This, despite comments from the country's musical "elite" saying "how can you let just anyone play". One audience member said afterwards, she didn't get a copy of the program, so she had no idea that the pianist was not a full-time performing musician, such was the quality of playing and performance. I'm also fed up with those who adopt a sort of "luvvy" attitude to adult/amateur pianists, implying that there's nothing wrong with people wanting to play the piano as long as they do it for their own enjoyment - the truth is, anyone can get to a phenomenally high standard at the piano - it's just a combination of choosing the right repertoire, fixing all the technical issues, and learning "how" to perform.
As for me - I picked a Bach English Suite, one that I had never played before, to get me back into the swing of things. The joyous fourth suite in F sums up how I feel about music - the boundless energy in the Allemande makes me think of the fact that even life's most horrific setbacks can't take away my enthusiasm and musical ability, while the Sarabande (as played by Glenn Gould in his astonishingly romantic, improvisatory recording of the piece) makes me think that Bach was the most romantic man that ever lived. It's so beautiful, I almost want to inflict it upon every student! I cannot get enough of this piece, and after years of listening to Gould's beautiful interpretation of this, I've immersed myself in it. And then there's Charles Ives - I just love playing his piano music, it makes me want to sign up for a gym membership, so I can work those arm muscles and play the music for hours without collapsing!
I'm not grieving about my piano anymore. It has finally become "a piano". I even played it some time back, when I visited my former student to work with her on some vocal repertoire. She confirmed that it had not been tuned in two years...some things never change!
I'm also not freaking out about the fact that I didn't play a note of music for two years. If anything, I'm glad I can finally look my adult students in the eye and say " I know exactly how you must feel."
But I do know that irrespective of how apprehensive anyone may feel about resuming lessons after many years, or tackling a difficult concerto movement or Etude, it is not impossible to regain strength, dexterity, confidence, memorising ability and self-belief. We all get nervous, but you can cope with it if you know your worth, as a human being and as a musician, and if you feel 100% secure in yourself and your playing (that's where a great teacher makes all the difference). Plus, this neurosis about only playing virtuoso classical piano music HAS GOT TO STOP. I've always programmed different genres into my piano recitals and even now, I love nothing more than playing a Mozart sonata and launching into some Kinks or Indian film music. If Leonard Bernstein were alive today, he would agree. Take his cue, and have fun.
In both Gould's letters and Mozart's, there are frequent mentions of the sort of pianos they were playing on.I don't need to go into much detail with Gould's love for his Steinway CD318 piano and also that battered Chickering as I've already spoken about both pianos before. Gould also speaks about his experiences with pianos in foreign countries and how he coped with all the challenges that came with playing on less than perfect (in some cases, downright brutal) instruments. It has always puzzled me when concert pianists dead and alive develop such a fixation on one particular piano, or make of pianos that they are reluctant to play anything else. It also irritates me beyond belief when young up and coming pianists start throwing tantrums if a Steinway concert grand is not exactly what they want - I witnessed an 18 year old young Canadian pianist yell and scream at her father (her manager) and concert promoters because she wasn't happy with the piano she had just played on. Insane behaviour! I've always enjoyed the challenge of playing on ANY piano, anywhere, at any time. At concerts, I would avoid practising on the piano of choice too much beforehand, simply because I got a bit of a kick out of sitting down and not knowing what to expect and then making friends with the instrument through the music I was playing. I realise, I'm the insane one, but then again, I have always viewed the piano recital or concert as a way to express myself, irrespective of the kind of piano I'm playing, or the acoustic in the hall, or even the lighting for that matter.
Having said that, I don't think I comprehended the full extent of my love affair with one particular piano, a Yamaha upright that I found hidden at the back of the piano store many years ago, and one that I insisted on buying even though it wasn't for sale, or even on display. As soon as I sat down and played it, I knew that this piano was one in a million - far more beautiful than even some of the baby grand pianos I had played. More importantly, I knew it was a toughie - it wouldn't go out of tune very often and would be a good match for my hours of practice as well as for my pupils. Sure enough, as the years went on, I would only need to tune it maybe once every 16-18 months, if that. Sometimes I would only tune it as a precautionary measure - it was that special! But like all materialistic things, it is important to not get "too" attached, so when life's circumstances dictated that I had to sell it, and relocate, I did it without getting too sentimental. It was nice to know that it would be going to a deserving piano student (a late starter teenager) and I had far greater worries and problems to cry about rather than the loss of a piano, which could be replaced at a later stage. So I sold it, used the money to clear some of my short-term debt and disappeared off the face of the developed world.
For the first year or two, I had so much to cope with - a serious illness, adjusting to life in India after being away since I was 18, and quite a bit of upheaval caused by these changed circumstances.
My radio programs brought me immense joy and creative satisfaction, and also took up so much of my time, along with working 9-5 after years of being a full-time musician/teacher - so the piano, that piano or any piano was far from my mind. To some extent, I think I made a very conscious decision to suppress all thoughts related to piano playing - I packed away all my music scores and books - boxes and boxes of them, and gave most away to the library and one of my adult students. In India, it was easy to suppress, because there were no pianos to be found anywhere in the city that I was living in. Plus, I was living a very simple life - rising at dawn, sleeping by 8 p.m. (electricity failures for a few hours each day mean one uses the natural light far more than one does in the west), looking after the menagerie of stray dogs and cats, working, cooking, reading, meditating and making radio programs. It was easy to assume a sort of new identity and a very important time in my life - stripped away from everything that defined me. Without my piano, music books, students, I did not know who or what I was. I've written about the experiences I had with people who knew me and "friends" who stopped contacting me once they had heard I was not giving concerts or doing anything music related. Even that was something I coped with, and took it as one of life's important lessons.
On a side note, I will never forget how excited I was when I first left India to go to America, and when I set foot into the music conservatory with all the practice rooms filled with concert grands! That alone seemed like a good enough reason to audition, to leave India and pursue a life of music, irrespective of the fact that I would always need to work two or three jobs to support myself if I was to do this.
Even as a child, I did not get a piano until after I had finished my Grade 8, after I played my first concerto in public - when I was about fourteen years old. Most of my childhood consisted of 5 a.m. starts - I'd go to my piano teacher's house before school, she would lock me in, go to Mass and then two hours later, I would go to school, having done my daily practise. So fast forward fourteen years...being "without" a piano should not have been so traumatic, given that I had never been born into a house which already had one!
But I realise now, that it was traumatic. After nearly two years of not even touching a piano, I had the chance to play one some months ago - I was finally living in a city where pianos aren't rare, mysterious objects. As soon as I sat down at the piano, I found it excruciatingly difficult to focus on the task at hand - read through some easy Schumann piece - because I was so completely overwhelmed by the emotions I was feeling, reuniting with an instrument that has been such a vital part of my life. In many ways, it was like seeing someone you were in love with for a lifetime and attempting to converse with them again after not having any contact with them for a long time. It was an out of body experience, in one sense. I never felt like I was physically present, and the notes on the page might as well have not been there. My fingers trembled violently, I could hear my foot shake non stop at the pedal, my eyes were glazed over and my mind filled with all the questions, ideas, memories. I had devoted my life to playing music in front of people, and also in later years, sharing my musical knowledge to adult and amateur students. For the FIRST TIME, I could honestly say I knew how they must have felt. For that evening, sitting there at the piano, I honestly believed I had forgotten EVERYTHING - from reading music to actually playing it. I had suppressed my grief at being forced to give up something that meant so much to me, something that was my entire identity, and being reunited with it was just too painful.
The ordeal of the previous few hours was made worse by the fact that I had to have this most personal experience in front of another person, a student at the music college who was possibly the least empathetic person I've ever come into contact with, though I didn't see it at the time, as my head was spinning so much. Later that night, I replayed the events of the previous few hours in my head, and was glad of one thing. I didn't feel any anger. As in, I didn't feel any bitterness or resentment. I wasn't thinking along the lines of "two years ago, I could toss off any of the Bach concerti from memory, and sight-read pretty much anything, now I can't even play a childishly easy piece." There was none of that. I think somewhere deep down I had not lost perspective totally. I was having a horribly difficult experience but it had nothing to do with my actual musical ability.
And that is why I feel so, so vindicated - that I chose to devote my twenties, and most of my professional career as a pianist to helping older "amateur" (hate that word) pianists. My first piano professor had warned me at our third lesson "stop running around teaching adults who can't play a note, you're wasting time with such nonsense." Lovely woman, wasn't she? I did the opposite. I would practice for my conservatoire exams, competitions and spend all my spare time working with absolute beginners, or anyone who had not played for years and wanted to resume playing. And I speak the truth when I say that nearly all the advanced adult students I taught over the years could perform in front of an audience to a superb standard, something which I never saw that professor do! So much for "amateur" pianists and "professional" pianists.
I'm digressing, but then again, I always do when writing here. I was actually making the point that even the most out-of-practise adult pianist never really forgets. And that all it takes for anyone to play the piano to a very high standard is a true love of music, focused practice and a teacher who is willing to bring out the student's full potential - through sound technical help but also through empathy and sincerity.
I'm still on the road a lot. Radio, my "other" love, takes up a lot of my time, as does living in the real world, making ends meet and saving tigers and old dogs (!). But I have been playing much more these past few months and my piano no longer lives at home. In fact, I don't have just one piano anymore. I now have a menagerie of pianos to choose from - a beautiful grand in a tiny church, a battered old Broadwood upright (similar to the piano I finally acquired in India) in the local school hall, and Clavinovas, Steinways, Yamahas, Kawais all thrown into the mix depending on where I'm staying and whether I've spent all my money for the day on food and the Big Issue. Adults and amateur pianists still seem to find me (just a few days ago, I spent two hours at a piano with a frail, elderly Dutch woman who had not played in over forty years - she knows and loves her French music) for I still love working with those who have all the talent and enthusiasm but who have also had to take different paths in life.
One of the highlights of my time in Ireland was the fact that two of my adult students played in the National Concert Hall (similar to playing the Wigmore, for instance). This, despite comments from the country's musical "elite" saying "how can you let just anyone play". One audience member said afterwards, she didn't get a copy of the program, so she had no idea that the pianist was not a full-time performing musician, such was the quality of playing and performance. I'm also fed up with those who adopt a sort of "luvvy" attitude to adult/amateur pianists, implying that there's nothing wrong with people wanting to play the piano as long as they do it for their own enjoyment - the truth is, anyone can get to a phenomenally high standard at the piano - it's just a combination of choosing the right repertoire, fixing all the technical issues, and learning "how" to perform.
As for me - I picked a Bach English Suite, one that I had never played before, to get me back into the swing of things. The joyous fourth suite in F sums up how I feel about music - the boundless energy in the Allemande makes me think of the fact that even life's most horrific setbacks can't take away my enthusiasm and musical ability, while the Sarabande (as played by Glenn Gould in his astonishingly romantic, improvisatory recording of the piece) makes me think that Bach was the most romantic man that ever lived. It's so beautiful, I almost want to inflict it upon every student! I cannot get enough of this piece, and after years of listening to Gould's beautiful interpretation of this, I've immersed myself in it. And then there's Charles Ives - I just love playing his piano music, it makes me want to sign up for a gym membership, so I can work those arm muscles and play the music for hours without collapsing!
I'm not grieving about my piano anymore. It has finally become "a piano". I even played it some time back, when I visited my former student to work with her on some vocal repertoire. She confirmed that it had not been tuned in two years...some things never change!
I'm also not freaking out about the fact that I didn't play a note of music for two years. If anything, I'm glad I can finally look my adult students in the eye and say " I know exactly how you must feel."
But I do know that irrespective of how apprehensive anyone may feel about resuming lessons after many years, or tackling a difficult concerto movement or Etude, it is not impossible to regain strength, dexterity, confidence, memorising ability and self-belief. We all get nervous, but you can cope with it if you know your worth, as a human being and as a musician, and if you feel 100% secure in yourself and your playing (that's where a great teacher makes all the difference). Plus, this neurosis about only playing virtuoso classical piano music HAS GOT TO STOP. I've always programmed different genres into my piano recitals and even now, I love nothing more than playing a Mozart sonata and launching into some Kinks or Indian film music. If Leonard Bernstein were alive today, he would agree. Take his cue, and have fun.
