I took piano lessons on and off during my elementary through high school years, and as a result – I recognize the difference between the white and black keys.
I *can* sight-read music… as long as you’re referring to merely the song title and time signature. The notes on the treble and bass staffs (staves?) are another matter altogether: I can pick them out, one at a time, but assembling them into something resembling a full-blown chord or fluid arpeggio? That’s an iffy proposition.
My favorite is the grace note since it implies forgiveness if I strike the wrong one.
At my artistic peak (more of a molehill), I wasn’t half-bad (which should not lead to any inference I was half-good). I had various teachers over the years, mostly due to my parents’ predilection for random moves among various cities and, as a minor child, their obligation to drag me and our upright piano along with them.
I did progress to the point where I played in a few youth competitions, peaking in 11th Grade with a performance of Aram Khatchaturian’s “Toccata.” I received a grade of A-minus and still recall the judge’s comment that my pedaling during the performance was “a little dry.” Neither my teacher nor I had a clue what that meant.
[Side note: here’s a video of an accomplished performance of said piece and I Can. Not. Believe. that I ever knew how to play this. I certainly never approached it with such speed and expressiveness.]
That was the height of my artistic accomplishments. Shortly after the “Toccata” performance, I became much more interested in placing my hands on as much of my then-girlfriend as she would allow versus a more compliant and yet less-satisfying keyboard.
Long absent any contact with the instrument as an adult, I recently purchased an electric piano at my wife’s request. She joined a community chorus and suggested I might want to play along to help her learn her alto parts. However, our collaboration didn’t last very long – my playing had regressed to toy piano level, and she instead opted to listen to audio tutorials the chorus director posted online.
I can still play the “Spinning Song,” known to every beginning piano student, and can also muscle through the first six or seven measures of J.S Bach’s “Invention 4 in D Minor” before my hands cramp into claw-like appendages. But those – and that thing where you roll your knuckles over the black keys – are the extent of my current répertoire.
Despite the atrophy of my abilities and general loss of interest in playing, I still love to listen to piano music and can hum along to the majority of the better-known classical canon. Over the years, my passion moved away from music playing and toward humor writing – interestingly, two diversions requiring key-striking. And while my accomplishments in both disciplines may be less than noteworthy – at least one of them routinely elicits laughter.
Just not the one I was hoping for.
