areiamus

As a child, I attended group piano lessons with Forte on Saturday morning. I remember some aspects of them quite vividly, the layout of the building, the view through the windows of the classroom, its place in the week. I remember you younger childhood as cyclical blend of Friday fish & chip nights, Saturday morning piano lessons, Saturday lunch at the nearby shopping centre food court where we, along with the other ten thousand outer-suburb proletarians who descended on the place during the weekend, first consumed food, then consumed mass-produced merchandise, and Sunday family outings or household maintenance.

Following some minor scandal, our beloved piano teacher resigned from the music school and so we were relegated to solo lessons, in smaller rooms and more individually-attentive instructors. I was not a fan. As far as I remember, the trips to the music school ended shortly after that. I don’t know how or why, but they resumed in a little stand-alone building close to the small cluster of Camira Shops (as they were back then, at least) with an old, highly-eccentric – and now that I look back on it with some slight objectivity, perhaps a little scary – man by the name of Mr Zimmer. He loved jazz, which was fortunate for me, because I also loved jazz. I remember looking with wonder at his aged, almost emaciated fingers as they flew across the cheap electronic piano’s keys, striking each note with perfect judgement of what was needed to bring a piece together.

At some point, and it embarasses me that I don’t remember when, my parents purchased a real upright piano. It’s followed me everywhere. It’s been tuned a few times, though I never really thought much of getting back into it, until relatively recently.

Sadly, it’s film soundtracks, anime BGM and ending songs to ludicrously popular games that have tempted me back into the world of piano. I say sadly, because it would seem so much more cultured to be inspired by a recent performance by Rogé at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre – but I’m glad to be back, whatever the reason. It provides a welcome break from study, from television, gaming – it’s a relief to engage some other part of my mind for those few minutes I’m submerged in a piece. Hearing the notes come together is a very pleasurable experience.

I understand it won’t happen in a few weeks, or even a few months. Apparently it takes 10 years to properly learn a skill. I look forward to a recital in 2018.