I mentioned before that I’ve recently been abusing my poor piano horribly. Unlike previous abuse (storing in an unheated garage; standing in a flood; causing an anglepoise lamp to drop onto the keyboard; attempting to apply french polish to the front; leaving it untuned for years and years) this is through the medium of me attempting to play.
I am, in fact, attempting to locate some kind of musicality that is perhaps latent in my soul. Well, it’s doubtful that it’s latent musicality; because as a child despite reaching the heady heights of Grade 5 on the piano, and occasionally even getting the excitement of a merit or distinction in such exams, Grade 5 (well after grade 5, according to my teacher) is generally the point where you either have to have talent, or work hard, and I did neither.
At grade 5 I accepted my terrible inability to practice as simply being something that is and gave up. I could kind-of-play stuff that I wanted to; and imagined that without the necessity to practice I’d simply play when I wanted to and that would be sufficient to keep up my skills. Of course, soon after I: did my A-levels; spent my time going out with the newly made friends; and then went to Uni where I had no piano.
When the piano finally arrived in our house, I plunked myself down at the keyboard of its hideously mistuned and poorly adjusted self and discovered that I can’t really play anymore. Quelle Surprise! However, my vague attempts to bring back practice as an adult have been not entirely unsuccessful. It’s hardly a daily occurrence, but the frequency with which I assault the keyboard with my presence has increased somewhat. And occasionally something vaguely resembling music comes out.
But the whole thing is quite interesting, comparatively, because at the same time as I’m doing this, Kathryn bought me Guitar-Teaching-Software; and so I’m trying to learn a new instrument* too. But the experience of trying to do something new on an instrument that requires all my concentration to produce anything resembling, well, at the moment, a chromatic scale, compared to the muscle-memory-being-dragged-out-and-used of my playing the piano is quite fascinating. I can sit down at the piano with a piece of music I played a couple of decades ago (oh, there’s a scary phrase) and despite the years of neglect my fingers sort-of know where to go. Not exactly, but sort of. To an extent that when I’m sight-reading (which is somewhat like going ‘right, so that’s an F…so that must be a C? [plink] Oh errr, no…D. Yes’; anything that’s off the stave takes me quite some time to find) I can let the fingers do the work. They know where on the keyboard they need to be. The reading-bit is hideously brain intensive, but the actual playing, whilst it’s not terribly accurate (at least in terms of timing) is pretty reasonable.
But playing the guitar involves all of my brain, muscles and nerves in a fight of extreme multitasking concentration. There is no muscle memory. Despite me cycling to work with my left arm out in the air trying to practice my fingering. Despite the several abortive attempts at guitar playing. The whole thing has to be done with no automation and it’s a real struggle. If I’m looking in the wrong place I sometimes pluck the wrong string, and if I’m looking at my plucking hand then suddenly I find my fingers are wandering off on their own little explorations of the neck.
Anyhow, I’m basically posting this because I want to give myself a little pat on the back for actually practicing. I realise that I’m (allegedly) an adult and thus should be perfectly capable of practicing an instrument (or any other skill) but; well; frankly I’m not very good at such things and I’m quite pleased with myself for doing so. Yes. Well, that and I do actually find the whole experience of learning vs re-learning quite interesting. So there y’go.
* For, err, 10 year old definition of ‘New’. Yes, I’ve had a guitar 10 years and still can’t play it. I’m aware that I suck at this stuff.
