Nam actually ranting.
Doubtless, music is a great passion of mine. I am one of those people who would rather lose sight than have to live in a world of silence (if given a choice: I'm pretty happy with th way I am). Those who have known me or kept up with my adventures of the past few days know that this week is an especially busy one regarding music. For the past two weeks, the entire weekend was essentially devoted to practicing for Battle of the Bands (see previous entry). I expect that all the weekdays leading up to the event will be taken for practice. Because of that and track, I got home at around 8PM today, just in time to take a quick nap and hurry off to piano lessons. Before I get to that however, I would like to point out some other musical happenings of my life. Wednesday, I'll be out from school to perform for some Festival thing: Vivaldi's Autumn from is infamous Four Seasons, myself being the harpsichordist (A.K.A. person playing electric keyboard with harpsichord sound). As far as I can recall (which is not far), this will be my first music-related trip of this type. Thursday, Stephen Nee and I will perform a cover of Weezer's "The World has Turned and Left me Here." Whatever anyone says, I still think it's a great song. Saturday will be Battle of the Bands. I truely hope for and expect a large turnout from Wootton or at least from my buds (not to say that those who don't come aren't my friends). And just as a note, all the music stuff isn't part of my rant. I'm actually loving the life of a musician as this is the most I've performed in a short period of time (again, to my recollection).
But here's where the rant begins. Aside from all this amazing and wonderful music stuff going on, I still do not practce AT ALL for my solo classical pieces. One could argue that I have no time to practice. However, that is not the case. I easily make time (and/or not do homework) for all the other stuff. Really, I could theoretically practice a ton a day. "Then maybe you just don't enjoy it as much as the other stuff." Completely false. Among all of the stuff I do for music from performing to covering to singing to composing to conducting to listening to analyzing to loving it with all my heart, NOTHING comes close to the amount of fulfillment I get when I perform a true classical music piece. It's where my heart lies. So how is it that I do the least of the thing that gives me the most pleasure? Well, anyone who's tried to learn an instrument would know that practicing requires a ton of discipline and patience. Those who've worked with me on previous music projects would know that when the time comes, I have fully capable of both. When it's just up to me though, I really can't get much done. I've told people that with my previous teacher, it took me about a year to learn one piece. Many don't believe me. It's the truth. Why? Before I thought that maybe I just learn music slowly. Nope. I clearly just don't practice. How paradoxical I am! Granted, it's hard work but the rewards are unexplainable.
Anyway, I had a discussion about this with my most recent piano teacher (who has been EXTREMELY patient with and tolerant of me). The discussion didn't help too much in regards of what to do. However, I found out something quite important. It was something I had probably been denying all this time. I was frustrated. Ever since I started lessons with this teacher, I "finished" reading notes, but never got them to performance level. I must have gone through more pieces with her than I did with my previous teacher who, I must add, I spent several YEARs with as opposed to a few months. In essence, the only pieces I had ready were the Beethoven and Mozart piano concertos, both of which I played and won in competitions (my last ones). But even performing piano concertos did not give me the same satisfactory feeling as performing a solo piece. So then I thought, maybe I should just work on shorter, easier pieces so I can at least have SOMETHING to show. That plan flopped. In the end (yes, a continuation of a pattern I realize), I opted to go to my roots. Chopin. On the drive back home at around 11PM, I blissfully sang to some Debussy in the car. I arrived home in a great mood (as always). My mother asked how the lesson went (as always). I explain what happened, and she basically chewed me up for it. It would be unfair to say she didn't understand, so I'll just put it this way. "Because of faulty communication, a misunderstanding occured (passive voice, go me) between my female parental unit and the entity that I deem my 'self.'" Though I admittedly feel guilty about it now, the explaination turned into an argument, and I stormed off with a horrible temper (not even bother to finish the day-old strawberries she had prepared for me). After a bit of cooling off in my room (walking in, taking a deep breath then walking back out), I calmed down, went down, and started practicing piano, really PRACTICING. I felt I was making progress. A wonderful feeling came about, and I felt things were going to be just perfect again. Then my mother came out and chewed me out for playing so late. "You're brother's trying to sleep right now!" Note that this was around 11:30PM, 11:40 at the latest. Now, I don't know what everyone's sleep cycle is, but my brother definitely usually sleeps after midnight. Not only that, he's usually practicing violin like the monster he is. I don't hold that against him. I DO despise the fact that somehow, it's ok if I, the one who used to go to sleep around the time I had to get up, have to try and sleep through HIS practicing (trust me, violins can be VERY loud), but when it comes to my practicing late, it's taboo. Additionally, my mother, being the understanding person she is, promised me that since I usually have to stay up so late, she wouldn't mind if I practiced piano in late and crazy hours. So much for that promise.
But again, this is a rant. I think what really hurt me most is that I finally started making progress in something I felt close to hopeless in, only to be whisked away from "it." Although I'd like to think that such irrational, spoiled, teen outbursts are out-of-character for me, what I write here is what I think to be the truth as of this moment. A dangerous pattern has arised though. I've definitely been slacking off on my work. And with a full-schedule including 4APs (no I'm not saying I have it harder than anyone), I do not have room to screw around in (like I'm doing now?). So I hope (with action, not just passive hope) that I will whip myself into shape and get going on the right track again. I'm hungry, but my mind's much more at ease. What a wonderful life! I feel so much better now! (No sarcasm intended). Now to start on my homework.
namco
But here's where the rant begins. Aside from all this amazing and wonderful music stuff going on, I still do not practce AT ALL for my solo classical pieces. One could argue that I have no time to practice. However, that is not the case. I easily make time (and/or not do homework) for all the other stuff. Really, I could theoretically practice a ton a day. "Then maybe you just don't enjoy it as much as the other stuff." Completely false. Among all of the stuff I do for music from performing to covering to singing to composing to conducting to listening to analyzing to loving it with all my heart, NOTHING comes close to the amount of fulfillment I get when I perform a true classical music piece. It's where my heart lies. So how is it that I do the least of the thing that gives me the most pleasure? Well, anyone who's tried to learn an instrument would know that practicing requires a ton of discipline and patience. Those who've worked with me on previous music projects would know that when the time comes, I have fully capable of both. When it's just up to me though, I really can't get much done. I've told people that with my previous teacher, it took me about a year to learn one piece. Many don't believe me. It's the truth. Why? Before I thought that maybe I just learn music slowly. Nope. I clearly just don't practice. How paradoxical I am! Granted, it's hard work but the rewards are unexplainable.
Anyway, I had a discussion about this with my most recent piano teacher (who has been EXTREMELY patient with and tolerant of me). The discussion didn't help too much in regards of what to do. However, I found out something quite important. It was something I had probably been denying all this time. I was frustrated. Ever since I started lessons with this teacher, I "finished" reading notes, but never got them to performance level. I must have gone through more pieces with her than I did with my previous teacher who, I must add, I spent several YEARs with as opposed to a few months. In essence, the only pieces I had ready were the Beethoven and Mozart piano concertos, both of which I played and won in competitions (my last ones). But even performing piano concertos did not give me the same satisfactory feeling as performing a solo piece. So then I thought, maybe I should just work on shorter, easier pieces so I can at least have SOMETHING to show. That plan flopped. In the end (yes, a continuation of a pattern I realize), I opted to go to my roots. Chopin. On the drive back home at around 11PM, I blissfully sang to some Debussy in the car. I arrived home in a great mood (as always). My mother asked how the lesson went (as always). I explain what happened, and she basically chewed me up for it. It would be unfair to say she didn't understand, so I'll just put it this way. "Because of faulty communication, a misunderstanding occured (passive voice, go me) between my female parental unit and the entity that I deem my 'self.'" Though I admittedly feel guilty about it now, the explaination turned into an argument, and I stormed off with a horrible temper (not even bother to finish the day-old strawberries she had prepared for me). After a bit of cooling off in my room (walking in, taking a deep breath then walking back out), I calmed down, went down, and started practicing piano, really PRACTICING. I felt I was making progress. A wonderful feeling came about, and I felt things were going to be just perfect again. Then my mother came out and chewed me out for playing so late. "You're brother's trying to sleep right now!" Note that this was around 11:30PM, 11:40 at the latest. Now, I don't know what everyone's sleep cycle is, but my brother definitely usually sleeps after midnight. Not only that, he's usually practicing violin like the monster he is. I don't hold that against him. I DO despise the fact that somehow, it's ok if I, the one who used to go to sleep around the time I had to get up, have to try and sleep through HIS practicing (trust me, violins can be VERY loud), but when it comes to my practicing late, it's taboo. Additionally, my mother, being the understanding person she is, promised me that since I usually have to stay up so late, she wouldn't mind if I practiced piano in late and crazy hours. So much for that promise.
But again, this is a rant. I think what really hurt me most is that I finally started making progress in something I felt close to hopeless in, only to be whisked away from "it." Although I'd like to think that such irrational, spoiled, teen outbursts are out-of-character for me, what I write here is what I think to be the truth as of this moment. A dangerous pattern has arised though. I've definitely been slacking off on my work. And with a full-schedule including 4APs (no I'm not saying I have it harder than anyone), I do not have room to screw around in (like I'm doing now?). So I hope (with action, not just passive hope) that I will whip myself into shape and get going on the right track again. I'm hungry, but my mind's much more at ease. What a wonderful life! I feel so much better now! (No sarcasm intended). Now to start on my homework.
namco