Chopin's Charm

For the last few days, I can't stop listening to Chopin's Ballade No.1, Op.23.

Growing up I was never a fan of Chopin's work. I played quite a lot of his waltzes but otherwise had very narrow exposure of his music. Also I was going through a rebellious feminist phase, turned off by anything romantic. So I discounted his music as "nice background music" and never explore further.

As I return to practicing the piano, I attempt some of his Etudes to improve my technique, and ended up falling in love with Op. 10 No. 9. If he could write an exercise piece that breaks my heart (take that Hanon!), what else he could do? Browsing through my current favorite pianist's work I found the ballades, and I'm still at No. 1.

Well it is anything but background music. Its dramatic narration is at times melancholy, reflective, and at times hopeful. It grabs your heart to a stormy journey and leaves you with a maddening ending.

I'm sure my inclination to repeat listening is partly due to my obsessive nature. But the popularity of this piece has proven that I'm not the only one drawn to it. Now I have to scour other interpretations of the piece to compare. Maybe next year I'll be able to move on to Ballade No. 2.

Giver of Music

It's Christmas day and gifts galore. As I reminded my boys to write thank you cards, I found out I need to examine my own thankfulness as well.

Since my "obsession du jour" has been piano playing and classical music, I realize I haven't been thankful to God for my ability to both play and enjoy. I have been constantly coveting the technique, musicality and even the big hands of various concert pianists. And don't get me started on child prodigies!

Granted, my talent has nothing worth bragging about, but what a gift it is to be able to make music on a beautiful instrument. From the interpretations of virtuoso pianists like Richter, Argerich, Horowitz, Kempff and more recently, Kempf, I get to appreciate Bach's earnestness, Beethoven's fiery passion and Chopin's poetic sensitivity, (Thank you YouTube!)

So I'll never be a concert pianist. But even if I'll never be able to play Rachmaninoff's fat chords, Chopin's Etudes in the speed of lightning, or even finish playing the 1st Movement of Pathétique without my left hand falling off, (those pesky tremolos!) I'm tremendously and undeservingly blessed with the beauty of music in my life.

And do I need to be reminded, on Christmas day, that the greatest gift we have is Jesus who was born unto us, to live a perfect life to cloak us with His righteousness, and to die to paid the penalty of our sins? Actually, I do.

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" Isaiah 9:6

My Air Pianist

Whose 4-year-old boy would throw a big fit because he fell asleep in the van and missed listening to Beethoven's CD? Well, mine would. And I don't know any other child who would dash to the CD player once we got home to jam to Sonata Pathétique, playing air piano and trying to bounce his hair, imitating his favorite pianist. Bravo my boy. Bravo.

Back to Tickling the Ivories

Recently I've return to playing the piano after more than a 15-year hiatus. This is a significant event for me. Since I thought I left that life 20 years ago.

Throughout my years in elementary through high school, I was known in schools for my piano playing. I accompanied for years for choirs in schools, played Catholic masses every week for 6 years, even played for two weddings for my high school teachers, which were supreme honors. My reputations was hinged on my playing, and unsurprisingly, my head got pretty big in those years.

Then came college away from home. I had picked a practical field to major in, but of course I have to check out the music department. There I heard freshmen students practicing, and I was floored by how good they were, and more importantly, how much they were better than me. I realized I wasn't as talented as I, or people around me thought. But I wasn't as crushed as I thought I would. After years of stressful piano exams, competitions and reputation-maintaining, I was ready to move on and explore other interests. And eventually I changed my major to a field I'd never get a job in, and had a great time taking fun classes with hefty tuition paid by my dad.

From time to time I'd stopped by the practice rooms and banged out a few pieces, but that bought me very little joy. Because unless I managed to sneak into an unlock room with a grand piano for graduate students, the rooms for the "mortals" are stuffy tiny boxes with falling apart unknown brand pianos, with sticky and out of tune keys. The walls are filled with graffiti, either of pretentious poetry, or lusting of the department's only cute professor. I don't think I was ever there for more than a half hour at a time.

Then come graduation, jobs, moving, getting married, having kids. In other words, life. I didn't have access to a piano all those time, and even on the back of my mind I always thought I'd get a piano someday, I never thought I'd go back to it as intense as it is.

to be continued...