Playing Poorly

Well, sometimes we just don't play as well as we'd like to.

That was the case when I massacred Rodgers and Hammerstein's Carousel Waltz at the Coastside Chorale's concert last June. I knew it was bad, but didn't know how bad until I tried to listen to the CD a few days ago.

The accompaniments to the rest of the program are probably all right, but it was the solo performance which was, frankly, awful.

My teacher always had the same answer for times like this: "Take your lumps".

Nonda reassured me: "I have lots of CDs like that. Just put it in a drawer somewhere and don't listen to it."

Aargh.

Piano Dreams

My usual piano dreams run something like this: I am supposed to play for a wedding, but I can't find the church, am late, arrive without my music books, desperately try to think what I can play without sheet music.

I have ruined instrument dreams. Usually it is a school, where someone has left beautiful pianos, harpsichords and clavichords out in the rain. Sometimes it is a church (Episcopal, strangely, though I have only rarely played for Episcopal churches) meeting in a basement with a ruined organ.

Last night's dream was different. I was back at Skyline College, late to class, didn't have my books, couldn't find the room...and when I found it, there were a dozen people sitting on the floor, waiting to be taught, but no pianos.

So at the dream-Skyline, I had all the students sign a paper, lacking a proper roll sheet, and began the lecture. "We are going to talk about seeing today. We are going to talk about description. No matter what you choose to communicate, whether by written word, spoken word or music, the clarity of your vision is essential."

Casting about for something to use as a model, I picked up an instrument from a pile of discards in the corner of the room. A banjo. As the dream ended (and my real-life cat decided it was time to rise and shine) there was one lone plunk from the banjo strings: A lecture coda.