Showing posts with label guitar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guitar. Show all posts

Thursday, November 13, 2008

A Little Piece of Home

FC comes into town tomorrow!

I've arranged for a car to pick her up from the airport, my cleaning lady is coming this afternoon, and I am fully stocked with wine and snacks.

My Baby Taylor is excited as well - it will be going to a good home - hers. It just hasn't been getting enough attention since My Love (the 630-scale Alhambra Classical) moved in.

FC and I used to talk to each other for hours a day. Usually at a bar, with our respective cars and drivers cooling their heels outside.

Ah, the good old days.

I no longer have a car and driver in NYC, but I think I can replicate the sitting for hours over multiple bottles of wine in a bar.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Nothing But The Music

I remember thinking recently that I got through my tumultuous teen and pre-teen years by playing the piano.

No need for a therapist, no need to act out in potentially destructive ways, not when you can empty yourself of everything difficult through your fingertips.

Some composers are better than others for that. Chopin, Schubert, and some Beethoven, are marvelous for their cathartic effect - you can overplay them when alone, without fear of criticism from one's piano teacher, and be self indulgently self-pitying or angry, playing yourself into every note, and feel better afterwards.

But Bach is what I played when things seemed so bad that the thought of catharsis was dreadful and unbearably naked, when the last thing I wanted to do was play myself into the music. Because Bach was always... wholly Bach.

I placed an Amazon.com order last Friday and received it today. I am on page 67 of my newly acquired copy of Madeleine L'Engle's The Small Rain and just read this:

Katherine looked down at the keyboard. "Mother said when you were unhappy or confused, Bach was the person to play. With almost everybody else you can think, but with Bach there's nothing but the music. It's true, you know."

"Yes, I know," Tom said. He stood leaning on the piano. Twice he seemed about to speak; then he waved his arms a little, helplessly, and wandered out.

The best writers can do that - magically pull out something important, and mostly forgotten, from your own experience, phrase it far better than you could have possibly done so yourself, and remind you of it.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Playing Mozart

My guitar lessons are going well, I am progressing by leaps and bounds.

After 2 months of lessons, I am now working an a Carcassi Etude which I will perform in a student recital in the beginning of April.

But, as I predicted for myself, I am now at the stage where I am acutely aware that my "musicality," which has been very expensively developed by years of classical musical training, is vastly NOT matched by my technical ability on the guitar.

I know how the piece SHOULD be played. But I have to accept that in the next couple weeks, the most I can achieve is producing a clean performance - all the correct notes, no incorrect ones, and, more or less, in the appropriate tempo. But a clean performance is hardly a GOOD performance.

This has made me think of when I studied piano. My piano teacher introduced certain pieces to me when she judged that I had sufficient technical ability, and had me revisit them at regular intervals. She had me first play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata when I was 11. I worked on the piece and was eventually able to produce a clean version of it. But it was only as practice, never for performance.

She had me revisit it at 13 and I performed it then.

At 16, I worked on it again. And although it was indisputable that I was a far more capable pianist at that point, with greater technical proficiency and deeper emotional expressiveness, my teacher's reply when I asked if I would perform it was: "Let me think about that. No." I think if she had been less measured in her response, she would have phrased it differently, "Hell no."

The bottom line was that I was a near prodigy when I was younger, but I peaked at 12, and while I kept progressing, the rate of that progress had slowed measurably, and by 16, I was merely average when compared to the pool of young pianists who were my peers.

In my last few years studying piano, I focused almost exclusively on practicing and performing Bach and Chopin - two vastly different composers. I was most proficient at Bach. His almost mathematical precision lent itself well to my strengths and my performances of Bach were not only clean, but also GOOD. But I enjoyed playing Chopin (and Schubert) much more - and I performed those pieces with a certain romantic, over-the-top quality which played well with audiences. I NEVER played or performed Mozart. Mozart requires all the technical precision of Bach, but also an ability to emote with restraint and delicacy. And restraint and delicacy have never been my strong suits.

Every year, my piano teacher would have all of her students perform in her student recital, and the final performance of the recital was always reserved for her best student. I was not her best student. There was another girl who had far better pedal work than I. SHE was able to play Mozart beautifully. But I held that coveted final position for years. Why? My teacher phrased it this way: "She's better than you are. But you ham it up. I can't let anyone follow you. It's not good, I don't like it, but what can I do?"

With my current guitar playing sparking this self-indulgent walk down memory lane, it has occurred to me that perhaps I need to do the life equivalent of learning to play Mozart.

But first, I will play Carcassi at this student recital, hamming it up for JF, DP, JD, et al, in the audience - JF in particular has promised to shriek wildly and pull out his hair and maybe even pee a little, no matter what I end up doing on stage, even (or especially) if it involves ping pong balls.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Toughen Up

The calluses on the fingertips of my left hand are developing nicely and I can now play my New Love for longer than 15 minutes at a time.

No one wants to be described as hard skinned and insensitive. There's a premium placed on being open and sensitive and well, soft.

But calluses allow one to play the guitar for longer periods of time without pain - the only way to gain the proficiency to make music. I think the same applies more generally as well - the necessity of toughness to create something sweet.

Friday, January 11, 2008

I Will Survive

I was talking to SK yesterday as I was waiting for my New Love to be delivered to me. And all I can say is that denial does strange things to a person. I couldn't actually focus on anything she was saying to me, I was too busy pressing my face up against the glass of my kitchen window, looking for a delivery truck, and getting increasingly agitated. I think I may have started hyper-ventilating as well. SK tried to reassure me by pointing out that I'd be this much of a freak even if I had been eating and drinking.

I thought I'd be in a highly weakened physical state by now, but that hasn't been the case. If anything, my normal state is now punctuated by moments of extreme frenzy - and not necessarily related to food. I got it into my head the other day that I desperately needed more bath salts from Sabon, so I threw on my coat and ran out the door. 30 minutes later, I was power walking around Union Square with no idea why I had left my apartment. I only remembered later that evening when I took a bath and found my plentiful stash of bath salts.

Here's a list detailing how detox is affecting me:
  • I'm talking a little too quickly
  • I find myself unable to maintain eye contact without getting really antsy
  • I have trouble concentrating
  • I pendulum wildly between crankiness and calling everyone "darling"
  • I spend a little too much time sniffing my New Love

And the universe is trying to thwart my detox:

  • SH, the owner of the market across the street, called me to see if I wanted her to bring me some Korean food
  • TO texted me asking where the fuck I have been and have I been cheating on him by drinking at another bar
  • On my way to the laundromat, the guys at Ray's pizza waved at me, in a way I construed as particularly mocking
  • On my way to the bank, I ran into the corner diner delivery guy who said, "Hi Honey, no grilled cheese today?"
  • CL emailed me yesterday and offered to come over with a pizza and a bottle of wine
  • BB mocked me by telling me that he just happened to throw a perfectly good tin of low sodium spam into the river. Although, this may have been a joke. I lost my sense of humor a couple days ago.

But I am staying strong. For now.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

New Love

Spanish, dark, beautiful, perfectly sized, always ready, and vibrates at my slightest touch....



If only I could figure out how to eat it.

Monday, January 7, 2008

Shhh....

My guitar teacher played a Bach Gavotte for me today. We all know what that means... I started getting all tingly.

MG is perplexed by this thing I have for Bach - she asked me, "Bach is so mathematical, what about Debussy, or even Satie?" I don't understand it either. Perhaps it's because I'm Asian and therefore find math sexy? I did have a little crush on my algebra teacher back in the day...

Well anyway, my guitar teacher believes I am a musical genius, and is awed by my near "magical" ability to instantly master both technique and music theory, often before he has completed the explanation.

I may have neglected to mention 5 years of music school and 12 years of piano lessons and the teensy little fact that I learned to read music before words.

Let's keep that between us.

Monday, December 31, 2007

New Year's Detox

I will be ushering in the New Year by fasting, in every possible way. Extreme detox.

No men, no booze, no smokes, no caffeine, no solid food.

SK and I will meet for yoga twice a week in the evenings so she can confirm I am still mobile. IC will weigh me every Friday to make sure I do not go below my lower weight limit. WC will check in on me once a week and hold a mirror to my nose and mouth to confirm I am still breathing and sprinkle water on me if I look dehydrated.

At boozy brunch yesterday, I asked WC what social activities exist that do not involve booze. I must have been speaking in Urdu because she just looked at me blankly.

My calendar for January looked so virginal that this morning I scheduled in things such as: "shower", "sit around", "be cranky", "crave something" just so I am not mocked by the absence of any real activities.

And while this may sound bleak, I am consumed by excitement. My focus will be inward. Work, yoga, piano and guitar, and dare I hope it? Sleep. The dance classes with IC and SK will wait until February after I have re-introduced myself to solid food. Evidently IC's jazz dance instructor is well worth staring at twice a week for an hour each time.

The good news is that I should be a really cheap date for my birthday. By 6:45PM, with half a glass of wine in me, I should be completely out and my exceedingly tolerant friends can haul my unconscious body to my bed and then continue my birthday celebration without me.

How FUN!