I just had my first proper piano lesson. Although I knew it would be an odd experience, I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the mental and emotional challenge. Having spent a year learning from an app, suddenly I was exposing myself to the judgement of a human. Fortunately, I’d chosen an excellent human. Steve is a calm, kind, and encouraging teacher. Above all, he’s someone who clearly loves teaching. With students ranging from 5 to 76, there’s not much he hasn’t seen, either. He certainly didn’t balk at the prospect of a nervous almost-51-year-old. Indeed, the dinosaur analogies he uses with the youngsters were remarkably effective for me.
This was also the first time I’d played a proper piano (I have a second-hand digital keyboard from eBay). Interestingly, it didn’t feel that much different from my cheap Yamaha, at least in terms the key weight. The big difference was the feeling in my fingers. As I played, the piano strings resonated, and the sensation travelled up my arm. I felt as though I was part of the instrument.
Suddenly, too, I was introduced to a whole new world of dynamics. Because most piano apps use a MIDI connection to provide feedback on your performance, they have no idea how hard you’re pressing that key — they can only judge whether it’s the correct note. A teacher, of course, sees and hears everything. Steve encouraged me to think about each individual note and to interpret it for myself, using the score only as a guide.
I started with an excerpt of Christian Petzold’s Minuet in G Major (commonly attributed to J S Bach). We experimented with playing some of the notes staccato or legato, introducing a crescendo, and then mixing it all up. This approach forced me to go much slower, rather than racing to reach the end of the song so I could win three stars or a golden ticket. I began to appreciate the learning experience much more. I can’t pretend that slowing down comes naturally to me, but, I’m more open to the idea than I’ve ever been in my life.
Steve has also got me to think about my physicality in playing the piano: whether my wrists are locked or loose, the angle of my fingers, and whether I’m leaning backwards to reach more of the keyboard. The apps make the piano an intellectual exercise, where you’re peering at the iPad and purely focused on playing the right note. You lose a sense of yourself as an embodied musician. It’s almost as though you’re playing with your brain, rather than your fingers, arms, and torso.
This epiphany is also helping me with writing. Writing, too, is a physical activity, even if you’re typing rather than using a pen. The way your fingers interact with the keyboard can affect your performance: if your fingers are moving more freely, your thoughts can flow more freely. If your hands are tight and constricted, maybe your thoughts will be as well. I now begin both piano playing and writing with some physical warmup exercises.
Although it took me a while to overcome my nerves and seek the assistance of a piano teacher, I’m so glad I did. I’m learning much more than just how to play the instrument. Steve is also encouraging me to overcome my horror of performing in front of other people. My challenge before the next lesson is to play for my partner (the advantage of a digital keyboard is that she’s been spared my Bach interpretations). So far, only Steve and my cat have been present. It’s fair to say that one is much more supportive than the other. I’m not sure I ever want non-captive audience, as there’s already so much to enjoy. Especially the dinosaurs.
I was also greatly encouraged by Note by Note, a memoir by piano teacher Tricia Tunstall. Beautifully written, this book is like peeking around the door at other people’s lessons. I realised that everyone finds their own way, and – most importantly for me – their own pace. There’s no need to compare yourself with anyone else or to compete on an app. It’s all about the joy of learning and being human.