What? Music??
What, I’m writing something about music here? Who would have ever thought such a thing??
Eliane Elias, the latin jazz pianist, is at Berklee this week, doing a couple of clinics. (If you’ve seen Calle 54, you’ve heard her play. If you haven’t… go rent it right now!!!!) At lunch today, Ruby and I caught part of one of the clinics before I had to go to class. Most of what she talked about today was centred on how she got started as a jazz musician in New York in the 80s; as a Brazilian and as a young woman, it was really hard for her. But some things she said made me wonder what the hell I’m doing in the music business. She talked about when she first went to New York, knowing no English, and having no papers or Social Insurance or a bank account or anything. She needed a piano, and went to the Steinway warehouse; the big one, with all the Steinway bigwigs and stuff. She sat down and started playing and a salesman came over to her. She told him (in, she said, very broken English) that she was new in town, wanted to be a jazz pianist, and needed a piano to practice on. The salesman asked if she had a bank account, a credit rating, a social security number, a credit card, or anything, and the answer, of course, was no. He said he couldn’t help her buy a piano, but when she asked, he said he’d let her stay and play a bit longer in the showroom. As she was playing, she noticed a few men in suits start talking and gesturing at her; a few minutes later, the president of the Steinway company at that time came over and introduced himself, and said he’d give her a piano. Three days later, a Steinway truck was at her apartment, and three years later, she was an official “Steinway Artist”.
She was 21! There’s no way I could walk into the Steinway showroom and play anything that would cause the president of Steinway to give me a piano. There’s nothing I could play that would get me a record contract when Michael Brecker, Peter Erskine, and Eddie Gomez didn’t have one and would cause those guys to ask to play on my record when I got the contract. Like… as amazing as some people are, I just wonder if I’m too late already; they tell the singers when they enter GMac that if they have it in their heads that they’re going to be pop-stars when they leave the program, they need to get rid of the notion because they’re too old by the time they’re 18. I’m wondering if the same goes for pianists, or indeed musicians of any instrument or persuasion… I mean… I’m no more motivated to practice than I was last year or the year before, and I can’t see my progress… people say they hear it when they hear me play, and I know I’m my own harshest critic, but still. I hear things that I want to play, and I can’t play them, and my playing sounds so much the same all the time to my ear, it feels like I’m stuck. Oh well… I’m rambling now.
On Tuesday, Kael, Josh, Jesse and I got up super-early in the morning to go to the IHOP in Harvard Square for free pancakes before class. I thought it was kind of random to have a day of free pancakes, especially one that happens on the same day every year (okay well, obviously that’s not random, but you know what I mean), until I remembered that it was Shrove Tuesday, i.e. the day before Ash Wednesday, the day when everyone traditionally eats pancakes before they have to give up delicious things for Lent. We used to do it at Robertson-Wesley as a pancake supper… how soon I forget these things when I’m not working with the church choir!
I’m still sick, and it still sucks… but I’m getting better, finally; I can see the end of it within the next couple of days. Good riddance, I say!
One more musical thing: Martin and his dad are building a Theremin. When they are finished, I will be the Theremin queen!! Now all I need is a set of bagpipes, and I’ll have the most useless musical skill set ever!
Eliane Elias, the latin jazz pianist, is at Berklee this week, doing a couple of clinics. (If you’ve seen Calle 54, you’ve heard her play. If you haven’t… go rent it right now!!!!) At lunch today, Ruby and I caught part of one of the clinics before I had to go to class. Most of what she talked about today was centred on how she got started as a jazz musician in New York in the 80s; as a Brazilian and as a young woman, it was really hard for her. But some things she said made me wonder what the hell I’m doing in the music business. She talked about when she first went to New York, knowing no English, and having no papers or Social Insurance or a bank account or anything. She needed a piano, and went to the Steinway warehouse; the big one, with all the Steinway bigwigs and stuff. She sat down and started playing and a salesman came over to her. She told him (in, she said, very broken English) that she was new in town, wanted to be a jazz pianist, and needed a piano to practice on. The salesman asked if she had a bank account, a credit rating, a social security number, a credit card, or anything, and the answer, of course, was no. He said he couldn’t help her buy a piano, but when she asked, he said he’d let her stay and play a bit longer in the showroom. As she was playing, she noticed a few men in suits start talking and gesturing at her; a few minutes later, the president of the Steinway company at that time came over and introduced himself, and said he’d give her a piano. Three days later, a Steinway truck was at her apartment, and three years later, she was an official “Steinway Artist”.
She was 21! There’s no way I could walk into the Steinway showroom and play anything that would cause the president of Steinway to give me a piano. There’s nothing I could play that would get me a record contract when Michael Brecker, Peter Erskine, and Eddie Gomez didn’t have one and would cause those guys to ask to play on my record when I got the contract. Like… as amazing as some people are, I just wonder if I’m too late already; they tell the singers when they enter GMac that if they have it in their heads that they’re going to be pop-stars when they leave the program, they need to get rid of the notion because they’re too old by the time they’re 18. I’m wondering if the same goes for pianists, or indeed musicians of any instrument or persuasion… I mean… I’m no more motivated to practice than I was last year or the year before, and I can’t see my progress… people say they hear it when they hear me play, and I know I’m my own harshest critic, but still. I hear things that I want to play, and I can’t play them, and my playing sounds so much the same all the time to my ear, it feels like I’m stuck. Oh well… I’m rambling now.
On Tuesday, Kael, Josh, Jesse and I got up super-early in the morning to go to the IHOP in Harvard Square for free pancakes before class. I thought it was kind of random to have a day of free pancakes, especially one that happens on the same day every year (okay well, obviously that’s not random, but you know what I mean), until I remembered that it was Shrove Tuesday, i.e. the day before Ash Wednesday, the day when everyone traditionally eats pancakes before they have to give up delicious things for Lent. We used to do it at Robertson-Wesley as a pancake supper… how soon I forget these things when I’m not working with the church choir!
I’m still sick, and it still sucks… but I’m getting better, finally; I can see the end of it within the next couple of days. Good riddance, I say!
One more musical thing: Martin and his dad are building a Theremin. When they are finished, I will be the Theremin queen!! Now all I need is a set of bagpipes, and I’ll have the most useless musical skill set ever!