Saturday 15 November 2008

every good boy deserves favour

I never had piano lessons when I was a child. I could have either music or dance, but not both, and I really wanted to dance. I wasn't that good, but I loved it, and it meant that a sport-hating kid took lots of exercise.

(Note to all other sport hating kids. The only thing I know about hockey is that if you run down the pitch wiith your stick higher than your shoulder, you get sent off. That means you have to take a warm shower and sit in the changing rooms with a book.)

But that isn't what I meant to write about. Finally, when I was grown up enough to have a daughter doing a music degree and a piano in the house with nobody playing it, I decided to have piano lessons. Maybe I'd just do it for a little while to see if I was any good. I don't think I have any natural talent, I hate making mistakes, and I'm long past the age where the brain just gulps down everything new, but after a lifetime of not even knowing where Middle C was, it's a great joy to be able to play anything at all. (For me, not for my family. One more stumble through Scarborough Fair and they'll be howling at the moon.)

This afternoon I went to the most fantastic concert, arranged by my piano teacher to give her younger (decades younger) pupils the chance to perform. There they were, all the way from six year old dots plinking their way through nursery rhymes while their party shoes dangled two feet above the pedals to assured young people swishing through Bach and serious jazz.

Being able to make music is the most wonderful thing. I loved every note, and I loved their readiness to play, whether they were dying to perform or terrified of it. Watching the skill and hearing the music pouring (or trickling) through those young people was uplifting. Do they know how privileged they are?

I could have danced all the way home.

No comments: