I’ve Got the Music in Me: The Making of a Piano Prodigy
November 8, 2017
For someone who has never been a real performer, I have two too many stories about humiliating myself in auditoriums. And what do you do when you make a fool of yourself in front of hundreds of people. Write about it and post it on the internet. Clearly.
Here’s to You, Mrs. Valentine
I played piano for about 6 years. The past tense and verb choice is key here. Because while I played piano I never really learned piano. At least not the way you’re supposed to.
My piano teacher, Mrs. Valentine, was lovely and she tried her darndest to get me to actually learn to read music. Much to her chagrin, I always found it much more satisfying to watch her play Greensleeves and then by trial and error figure out how to make my fingers do the same thing. If you listened to me play piano, it was halfway decent. But if you asked me to play a middle C or identify a B flat in the music book I’d stare back at you blankly until it made you uncomfortable enough to walk away. (I just had to google “names of notes” to write that sentence.)
Somehow this never became a real problem. I’d go to lessons, watch Mrs. Valentine play, practice until it sounded the same, and move along. Until that one fine day my lack of musical aptitude finally caught up to me.
Play Us a Song, You’re the Piano Girl
I had a three song set list for the spring recital, including one my favorites: Pachelbel’s Canon. (Groundbreaking stuff.) I could play the snot out of Pachelbel’s Canon though so I don’t care if it was cliché, I loved it.
This year’s recital was in the Middle School Auditorium instead of the library– welcome to the big show. When it was my turn to go to the piano, I brought up my sheet music, mostly as a prop and because everyone else did. For all I knew it was full of Egyptian hieroglyphics. I sat down at the piano and that’s when I made a crucial error – not sitting down at my piano in my living room and sitting down at an unfamiliar piano instead. When I put my hands on the keys it didn’t feel right and I suddenly realized I had no idea what I was doing.
My tendency to panic and do nothing hadn’t fully developed yet in my pre-teen years so I starting poking at the keys to see if anything sounded right. Ting… nope. Ding… nope. Shoot… “Pssstt… Mrs. Valentine…”
Mrs. Valentine came out onto the stage, told me the first note was a D, and walked away hoping for the best. But she had given me no new information so I went back to the poking at keys strategy. Bing… nope. Doooo… definitely not.
Meanwhile my parents are in the audience reconsidering their investment in both the camcorder and my piano lessons. “What on God’s green earth was she doing? Did we really pay for this? Should we just leave maybe? Why doesn’t she seem to be concerned that she is at a piano recital NOT PLAYING PIANO?”
No Seriously, Play Us a Song
Back to Bectoven on the stage. “Psssttt… Mrs. Valentine.” This time Mrs. V picked up my hands and placed them onto the keys exactly where they should go.
Oh riiiiiiight, this feels normal now. Good looking out, Mrs. Valentine.
I then proceeded to rock the house with the best version of Pachelbel’s Canon you’ve ever heard in late June in southern Massachusetts in the mid-90’s. The audience was befuddled, my parents were relieved, my brother had fallen asleep 15 minutes ago, Mrs. Valentine was scratching my name off the program, and I left the stage Beyonce level confident for some reason. #Flawless
If memory serves, this was the last year my parents paid for piano lessons.
With the realization that at least 1/3 of my blog posts should end with apologies to my parents,
P.S. This is actually only story two of three in the “auditorium failures” chapter of my life. Come back for post three tentatively titled “It’s Not a Beauty Pageant, It’s a Scholarship Program.”
P.P.S. The Very Merry Christmas Movie Bracket is still accepting nominations. Be sure to place your vote for best Christmas movie!