Playing by Heart

My mother was deeply affected by music.  She sang in choirs in school and in church, but as far as I know she never "studied music." But she insisted that her children include formal music training in their activities.

Every time I switch on my Roland RD 800 synthesizer, I think about my mother and thank her for encouragement to include music in my life. It's a strange irony, however, that I had to overcome a lot of what my mother taught me about playing the piano to get to the place that I actually enjoy it.

This synthesizer is quite incredible. For every button, switch and setting  I know  how to use, there are dozens that I have not figured out.  It is these settings that I don't know how to use that stopped my enjoyment of the machine for quite some time.  None of this was Mother's fault and is not the point I want to make about her. All of this is on me. Then it occurred to me to use and enjoy the settings I do understand.  It was at that point that I began to spend quality time making music on my synthesizer.

The piano was the gateway my mother choose for me to enter the world of music appreciation.  In many ways, however, the opposite happened. "Practicing the piano" was drudgery. While my friends were outside playing, I had to "practice the piano" for thirty minutes a day. Like going to the dentist, it was just something I had to do. "Practicing the piano" involved playing and  memorizing boring songs all of which meant nothing to me. Furthermore, our piano was rather crummy and produced no sounds that were particularly aesthetically pleasing. But for five long years I "practiced the piano." In spite of my attitude, I did learn to play pretty well, There was little "music" involved, but at least I could play.

Our piano was in our living room. Strange thing about that room. We had a small two bedroom house. After my sister was born, Mom and Dad remodeled the house to add another bedroom and bathroom.  But the odd thing is that they added a fairly large living room. A room we seldom used. It had some nice furniture and a piano.  We spent our family time in the den of the original house.  But I spent a lot of time in the living room alone "practicing the piano."  As I got older and my ability increased I began to make up music on my own.  This music I really enjoyed playing.  But inevitably mother would yell from the den, "You're not practicing!"  And I would get back to my required playing.

In spite of my "early childhood development" or lack thereof,  I entered music school and earned a couple of degrees. I also earned the respect of my professors and classmates as an accomplished musician.  But most of that music was someone else's creation and I was simply re-creating.

But my music, that music I was pounding out on my piano in my living room all those years ago, had waited long enough.  About three years ago I bought a synthesizer, a Roland RD 800. And the rest, as they say, is history, my personal music history. Every time I switch it on I think "Mom, you'd be proud. I'm about to 'practice my piano' in ways that you never imagined."  I smile when I open my favorite "lesson book", The John Thompson Modern Course for the Piano, Third Grade Book,. This is the book I was in when I quit taking piano in the eighth grade. And before you judge, "Third Grade" doesn't mean easy. But it isn't playing from that book that brings me the most joy, it's the music I create and compose that I enjoy playing the most. And I "practice" for hours at a time. And the amazing thing is that much of this music is based on themes, chords and motifs I created back home in my living room (when Mom wasn't listening). Through seven years of formal music education, singing and directing a world of music,  my own music never left me. I just needed the right instrument.

When I'm at home and I want to listen to beautiful music, I boot up Spotify and switch on my  Bose headphones.   But sometimes when I want to listen to beautiful music, I plug my headphones into my synthesizer, switch it on, open my composition book and I play. I'm the one that's playing, but I'm also the one that's listening--to my own music! And I think "Thanks Mom. Sometimes meaning well is good enough. You had the wrong approach, but you had the right idea and for that I'm eternally grateful"

That.living room was a lot of empty space. But it wasn't wasted space. There was a piano in that room and I played it quite often. My head thought I was "practicing", but my heart was listening all along.