What my Piano Taught Me

I can’t imagine a house without a piano. One was always in my home: my mom’s piano as a child, a pretentious grand from my first marriage, our current c. 1900 tin pan alley upright.

A piano says something - that we love music, and love to make music. It could be prominent. It does fit nicely with our old and vintage decor. But it also is misleading, a sham to my supposed prowess. I can’t really play.

I’ve had various teachers but I can’t get past playing with one hand at a time. Trying to get them both to work independently yet together is difficult - more than difficult. My rational brain thinks this is ridiculous, that I’d have to detach one part of me from the other. I think too much. In music, indeed in any kind of art, one has to eventually let go of thinking about it. I know of course I have to be diligent with technique, that it can become second nature. So far it hasn't worked.

I’ve tried other instruments. As a teen I loved the oboe and bassoon. I learned by guess and by gosh - my school orchestra teacher handed me the instruments and a fingering chart. I played the oboe in marching band (so silly) but Sousa’s insanely fast notes got beyond me. Anything complicated did. Indeed, using my fingers for music doesn't seem to be in my nature.

I love to listen; music is food for me. I’m blessed with a music loving husband who has taught me the joys of not only Schubert and Mozart but Dvorak and Martinu. He hears music with the ear of an expert. I find him rapt to the sounds of a CD. Yet I felt the yearning to create music, as well as listen. I kept looking for my talent.

I have sung in choirs since childhood - churches mainly. I sing hymns (loudly). However my soft palate would eventually ache. So at age 64 I started singing lessons to remedy this. Thus I discovered my Voice. My big Voice. High and large. Until then I had no idea I could sing well - it is a gift like coming home. Singing is my musical Talent. I can sing well in a concert with other voices, surrounded by the magic of harmonies. I love to sing solo, though I have stage fright. The satisfaction is enormous. Yes, it requires a lot of work to sing, but I don’t mind. Technique doesn’t distract me. It allows my voice to soar, filling up a room.

My piano provoked my music-making search. It now tells me what pitch to sing. With one hand I can play out difficult passages and thus learn how to sing them. After a lifetime of struggling with instruments I became a singer. The instrument was my body, myself. Amazing.