It was one of those days: get the kids to school, run to the office, run to a business lunch, run to the office, get the kids from school, run to a board meeting straddling the dinner hour, drag my carcass home to congealing leftover takeout pizza. I was tempted to slump in an easy chair for the rest of the evening, but there was that one more thing left on the day's calendar. After the kids' bedtime, it would be time for my piano lesson. It had been a full month since my last lesson; my twice-a-month schedule had been disrupted by a bout with the neighborhood flu two weeks earlier. Right on schedule, I could feel the low buzz of pre-lesson anxiety: I need more practice, I'm nowhere near being able to play without making mistakes, I'm going to be fumbling around the keyboard like Jeffrey Jones's Emperor Joseph. But I warmed up for a few minutes at home with Hanon (Queen of the Scales, that's me), then headed off to the piano teacher's.
Every single time this happens: I walk up to the door in a tense knot of performance fright, but as I cross the threshold, my teacher is greeting me warmly, nearly beaming, and I begin to beam too. I sit down at the Kawai grand, its tone and touch as bright and rapid as quicksilver, and begin to play. We've been working on some of Debussy's Book I preludes, this month No. XII (Minstrels). I had no idea that I would enjoy playing Debussy, but I've been open-minded about my teacher's suggestions, and I am having a blast with this piece, which is exhilaratingly silly without being in the least bit frivolous. And then we move on. After wrapping up many months steadily working through the Schubert "little A", we're starting a Beethoven sonata (No. 9 in E major). Her teaching style is direct, specific and musically intuitive, as we unpack the beginning of the sonata's first movement, measure by measure, and sometimes note by note. I feel more relaxed, engaged and happy than I've been in, well, a while.
My teacher and I have been trading recordings of the complete Beethoven sonatas: this time I'm taking home Wilhelm Kempff, teacher of her teacher. I like some of the performances better than others, but I can't think of a better morning reveille than his Appassionata, and I'm hypnotized by how he plays the D minor second movement of Beethoven's "Pastoral" sonata (No. 15, Op. 28), where for six elongated measures in andante toward the end, you're moving underwater in deep, steady breaststrokes through the length of a deep, clear pool, almost forgetting the need to breathe.
Glad to see you're back blogging.
Your post almost inspires me to seek out formal instruction again - either organ or piano. Maybe in a few more years...
Any chance that you would post a recording when you've got a piece ready to show off?
Posted by: JohnL | February 09, 2006 at 09:39 AM
Ah, takes me back!
My piano teacher was a huge Romanticist, a source of some friction between us. Eventually, he got me to play one of Debussy's preludes, too. It was No. 9 La serenade interrompue. I confess that I rather enjoyed it, particularly because of its Spanish flavor.
However, my price for Debussy was that we'd turn to Bach afterward. The next piece I studied was his English Suite No. 2 in A minor. I felt that doing the Debussy was a small sacrifice to make to be able to get back to old J.S.
Posted by: Robert the Llama Butcher | February 09, 2006 at 09:40 AM
John - I dunno--"Switched-on Buxtehude" is a pretty tough act to follow! I must say that taking up piano lessons again has been one of the best things I've done...I highly recommend it.
Robert - Did I hear that right? "Llamabutcher Robert enjoyed Debussy." Actually, I expect to be (and look forward to) working on Bach with this teacher in the future, and in the meantime fumbling around at home with an Invention or two.
Posted by: Chan S. | February 10, 2006 at 07:16 AM