twosday

piano stories, key of A

as a friend of mine and i tried to avoid a sort of crazy but probably well meaning older asian lady on the bus, we shared music-playing stories (which the lady herself had brought up: [looking at me] “you play music don’t you? hah? hah? am i right? you must be on the stage. you gotta have charisma.”). he shared one that i want to re-share and store away, for whatever:

during his early years in grad school [he is an old fogey in grad school years], j started taking piano lessons. it was a serious investment — he bought a keyboard with weighted keys and signed on to weekly lessons. his teacher was a julliard-educated jewish woman in her late 70s, who lived in a high rise in first hill, one of those buildings that caters to retirees. [i imagine j walking down plushy carpeted halls with flowers on end tables at the end of the walk, passing by tracksuit-clad old folks with walkers.] he’d come every week and practice on her baby grand. j wasn’t very good, though; he never practiced, and so every lesson was painful for him because he never progressed.

once j’s teacher made him learn a duet with her, which they performed at an old folks home. according to j, the audience was quite appreciative, giving them a nice round of applause at the end. “i’m sure half of them were actually deaf,” j says. our mutual friends and [now former] classmates, v & j, showed up for the performance, like two supportive parents [in a sea of old folks, mind you]. after their performance, one of the audience members came up to v [who is japanese-american, and only half at that. j is chinese-american] and said, ‘you did a great job!’

oh old folks i love them.

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i wish my music-playing history was populated with stories like that. just these:

for five years i played recitals/competitions in which i always ended up in second place. worse, the first place student was always maritess b., as if the extra ’s’ conferred a bit of a piano-playing edge, more nimble fingers, or a better sense of rhythm. [no scars though; i eventually started a first-place streak that lasted a few years. take that, me with too many S’s!]

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after so many years of lessons as a kid, i only really learned to play the instrument when i took lessons again while in grad school. my teacher this time was a piano grad student from korea. for our first meeting i prepared a piece that was fast and loud, and i played it that way, wrists pounding at the keyboard, staccato where it shouldn’t have been. she looked on respectfully but also maybe a little horrified. during our next meeting, she had me touch the keys — really touch them, for varying amounts of time, with varying amounts of pressure, so that i could hear and feel the difference in sound. she trained my wrists to stay still, to put the movement in the arms and fingers.

from her i learned a deliberate touch of the keys as a more reasonable and elegant way to command the dynamics of the instrument. from her i developed an appreciation for reverberation under my fingertips, and a gradual disappearance of sound that corresponds to the rise of my arms from the keyboard.

[and if i ever write a screenplay for a cheesy movie about music, this will surely be a montage.]

studies in devotion, home edition

st. therese is bright: sunlight, when seattle gets it, streams through the windowed wall on the short side of the building, better to reach families at the fountain during baptisms, of which there were three on the day i attended. three times, children were dunked head-first into the holy water fountain, emitting the most horrendous screams that make you wonder at the nature of that holy water.

the baptisms help explain the camaraderie at this church that day. so much hand-shaking, back-slapping, baby head-petting during all parts of the mass. the peace-doling portion lasted five minutes longer than usual, with people traversing across the church to give and receive peace, creating a din i’m unaccustomed to hearing in a catholic church. even without the baptisms, it’s clear that this parish is a social hub. me, i sat between two friends [of each other’s, not of mine], and spent a good part of the mass moving forward and back in my seat to accommodate exchanges of glances and words. it was warm and isolating at the same time.

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this winter break, i came home to two of three parishes my family frequents.

we returned to st. phillips [cf this other post], not the usual parish but host to some of the most important events for the extended family, this time for my uncle/ninong’s funeral. our 7-family clan occupied less than 1/5 of the church, but it never felt so intimate, even at K’s wedding. i was seemingly exiled to the wing of the church that held the piano so that i could accompany the initially ornery singer for ‘ave maria’ and ‘amazing grace.’ [she let up once she saw me bawling in between songs.] but i knew everyone in the pews, i knew who was missing that morning because of work/distance and what details to remember so i could pass them on [cousin M cried. cousin R’s eulogy was unknowingly witty.], and i caught a reference to my family in the eulogy. afterwards, we hugged, gave peace and condolences, and caravaned in heavy rain to a military cemetery an hour away.

a week later i was up early again for simbang gabi at our usual parish, where my personal catholic milestones were marked. more dolor: the filipino priest gave a shoutout to his mother who had died the week before, embedded in a reminder of how pasko should be celebrated — “we sit together at christmas enjoying those with us, not knowing who may not be with us the next time.” some wet eyes, even if it was too early in the morning for tears. during the last ten minutes of the mass, pops and i rushed to the social hall to set the buffet and to prep the honey baked ham, realizing that it required some warming up before being served. oops. i love lucy-like hijinks ensued. the ham was eviscerated anyway, half-cold, 15 minutes later. folks were hungry.

i hear of simbang gabi’s around LA with dozens-strong choirs, a parole parade, tagalog mass, networked with other parishes. assumption’s stands on its own, and is cobbled together — with great love and as much care as they can give — maybe a month beforehand. the planning committee is populated with retirees, who also comprise the choir, who also cater the social, who also put the program together and photocopy, collate, and staple it the day before. i imagine this mass is anemic compared to the LA cathedral’s. i imagine an army of folks, mostly young people, in charge of the cathedral’s production. there’s charm, though, in the spirit of this simbang gabi put on by my parents and their catholic posse.

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how i want to remember this winter break:

the dark underneath

a very new addiction:

and a thom yorke/jonny greenwood cover because mr. yorke’s voice and his head-shaking are enchanting: