It’s interesting that if I’m sad and having a hard time finding words of my own, that music can offer so much. Even instrumentals with the right chords and the right tempo can bring tears to my eyes. It’s a wonderful gift we humans have in music.  To be able to offer solace to our souls, to give triggers to memories, to help us grieve.

My mother-in-law passed away last night. I find myself wanting to write her something. I have no issues with finding the right words, but I feel like keeping quiet for once, and letting my fingers do some of the weeping for me. My eyes have had enough of a cry, so I want to let the rest of my body follow. They say that every cell in our bodies have a memory, well I want to let every cell in my body mourn properly and fully.

To lose, not just a mother-in-law, but a close and very dear friend hurts to the core of even the hardest of men. To allow feelings to come forth is a gift in itself, but to make it so that others who hear your piece will feel your angst and your pain is a release of self, and an allowance of mourning. It says “I am not afraid to cry in front of people. I share my pain with you. Listen to the haunting sounds of my heart, come hear my song.”

There will be music playing at the funeral, there will be music playing during the reception. I will play my own song for her, in my home, alone, where it’s only her and I that can hear it.

It can be very difficult to suffer through depression.  It can be so difficult that even getting up the oomph to play piano can seem like an insurmountable task. I’ve just come through a circumstantial depression that affects many other health problems, and I’d like to relate how depression can affect music and the playing of the piano.

To see the large looming silent beast crouching poorly against the wall, trying to be inconspicuous makes you feel uneasy. It’s looking at you from behind it’s keys, stalking you. It’s after your hands, in a way that hurts you. It’s preying upon your mood as it hangs in your peripheral vision. You remember the sounds it used to make when it was happy, sad or angry. Now it’s silent, but with such an absolute deafening linger in your ears, eyes and soul. It’s haunting you. Its taunting you. It’s hunting you. Its begging and pleading.

To feel the desire to hide so overwhelming, but yet your soul has heard the cries of your soul speaking for your stringed friend. You want to remember the friendship, the love affair, the passion and the pain it gave you.

As time goes on and you feel yourself slipping you succumb to the beast and heave your weighted feet towards it. The addiction you have for it’s companionship calls you against your conscious will, yet all the while your subconscious secret self looses it’s grasp on the self imposed exile from life and slips you into the seat of illicit love and selfish greediness and the want to caress your lovers keys.

The first gentle touches brings an offering in the way of a reward, a sound of memories of better times, and of happier days when you shared a bond of strength and partnership. Your body relaxes with every note you play, and all of a sudden you can feel again. After a length of barren, desert-like emotions, you come across that oasis you needed to feed your dry soul, and fill you with the waters of soothing and invigorating music.

How could you have spent so much time punishing yourself and refuse the affections of your music? How could you ignore the lover in your home, the passionate but quiet listener who has never hated you nor caused you any harm?

It’s so very difficult to endure a depression. To get over the mental block that we create in our minds can be likened to climbing a mountain only to have to walk endless, unknown miles to getting well and allowing ourselves to feel again. I guess the numbness we hide in can make us intentionally, and willingly hate ourselves and lose, in our minds, the right to enjoy and love music. The punishments that are self imposed can be undone. I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me I can’t go without it. Playing my piano is my drug. It’s my happy place, it’s my addiction and my weakness. I can’t say no, and I can’t tell it to f*** off without the guilt remorse and shame making me weep inside to the point that I pray for the strength to recover, and feed my addiction again. ( I know, completely contradictory to the norm, but it’s not mind altering to the point you can’t drive. It gives one the ability to live a stable life and to cope with all of the pressures we have to encounter in daily life, as opposed to a simple existence that so many others have without the creating music, or so it seems.)

The therapy of a creative outlet, whether by favourite pieces by famous composers, or our own personal creations. All of it can swaddle our inner child, our inner secret vulnerable self and give us a shield to cope with the next day’s onslaught of negativity. I thank God every day for my musical abilities and the joy and relief they bring to me every day.

I went through a dry spell, but I have again gotten drunk on the intoxicating sounds of my best friend, confidant, lover, and therapist. Of all the ways I can self medicate I think my poison of choice being my piano was the best addiction I could develop.

I hope this has given you a brief look into the mind of a tortured soul and how music can help me to get through my life with seeming normality. I hope that if you identify with my story that you allow yourself the musical drug of music and give your fingers the fix they crave to play music so you can heal and return to the land of the living. Never let your music or your love for it die, lest you fall.

Its truly a wonderful feeling to create, to play, to do anything musically really. But is it enough for oyur brain to play? Can you feel what you’re playing? When you’re playing can you “hear” a concert orchestra behind you? If you can, you’re not crazy, or experiencing auditory hallucinations. If you can, than you’re like me.

Is it a mere possession of an active imagination? Does it denote how much you truly love music? Can it enhance the experience of music? Does it make you a lesser person to others? Do you even tell anyone that you do? There isn’t anything wrong with thinking that your music has more to it. If you like what you’re doing, and it makes you happy, and you can’t but help hearing a concert orchestra behind you then imagine away.

I guess it can be construed as crazy by others, but it’s only because they haven’t gotten a chance to know what it’s like to dream big, (and feel bigger.) There are so many judgemental people in this world who have far too much to say about following the rules, stick to what you’ve been taught, and “Thou shalt be taught, period.”  Being a dreamer by heart, that attitude has never flown well with me.

If you’ve never been able to imagine the sounds of  back-up from the New York Philharmonic then I can share with you a very brief look into a world of imtoxication.

A passionate, emotional first note, one that you know by heart and can find even on the foggiest brain days, you strike that first note and the sound that comes out of your piano isn’t the upright you’re sitting in front of, but you close your eyes and you know that it’s a concert grand all sleek and black. You can hear, no FEEL the resonance coming from the mammoth instrument almost as if there are no sounds but only silent waves that exit it. You strike the next key and from the blackness of your mind you can all of a sudden see the bright lights of the concert hall. You feel alone with the music, and swimming in it and there are so many more notes to be played, and do you have the guts to let yourself go and let your soul fly free?

As you start to work your way through the first few bars you can hear the warm accompaniment starting. Its soft at first, and they work with you and follow you and they can match your mood, your skill, style and tempo. If it’s what you can play the best, then they play Mary Had A Little Lamb with such a love for it, that Beethoven may as well have written it and not Mother Goose. If it’s your own work, then they got your music somehow and have it memorized, (how miraculous!!)

As you go through your piece, whatever it might be, you can hear the horns play, the woodwinds sweetly praising, the percussions stamping out any chance of not hearing the music, and the violins, cellos, and bass singing, NO!! They infuse each and every note with the lifeblood you have poured into it, especially if it’s your own work.

If you have written music with lyrics, or just want a vocal element then you can hear the ethereal sound of human emotion coming forth out of as many mouths as you can imagine, as though they were upon clouds and had wings. You feel them, and each and every vibration from their throats, and tears come into your eyes from how divine the sounds from your own private performance make you feel. Your heart swells from the love that each and every member of your  personal orchestra puts into your music, into accompanying you in the pieces that you love the most, and hold the most dear, and close to your heart.

It is so moving that you feel as though you can fly through the air among the notes themselves, and that as the music comes to a climax that you might not be able to stand it a moment longer.

As you hit that final note, you have chills running through you, and tears in your eyes. Then, you open your eyes to look at the marvellous musicians you played with, and it hits you all of a sudden, that you’re in the kitchen, alone, with only one small light on, and it’s 3am.

The sound of your own breath breaks the silence of the room, and you feel a sudden moment of sadness. It all felt so real, so vivid, so alive. But yet, as you feel that letdown, you also know that as soon as you want them to be real then they will be, and all you have to do it close your eyes and play again.

Is it that easy? Can anyone do it? (I’ve never spoken with anyone else who could, or would admit it at least.)  Do you think less of me because I can, or more of me?  Search inside your head, and see if you can find your own private orchestra to play with you. It can really enhance your playing, and is a great way to escape the pressures of the day. If you know that you can close the door to your dwelling and shed the constraints that society has placed upon you, and fly among the stars, (so to speak,) wouldn’t that help you hang on a little while longer? Music is a beautiful way to escape anyways, why not let yourself imagine your way to an even greater, and more intimate experience? No one is watching you, or preventing you but yourself. Shed convention, snub self judgement, and ignore the part of your brain that tells you that imagining is something children do.

Think of it this way, if it weren’t for imagining, there wouldn’t be any music at all now, would there?

Yes, I know the title has the word “piece,” but it’s intentional. Let me tell you why.

When someone who has been self taught, or has been taking lessons for a short period of time and are pleased with their skills, and have mustered up the confidence to play for you- LET THEM!!!!

There are so many people, other than myself, who love to play for others and get that instant feedback and validation that they’re trying, and that, (depending on who that person is, considering their circumstances,) they’re doing well and/or they’re really good.

Where did the snobbery start in this day and age? Is it the timeless class distinctions that has plagued the centuries? It still exists today, sadly enough, and can be seen very obviously in larger cities. Which streets do the rich avoid? Which streets are the less fortunate looked down up upon? Who gives to the poor, and who sticks their nose up at them?

Well, it exists in the music world as well, and is only obvious when someone with classical training, (and a stick up their ass,) decides that they don’t have time for, and will not validate a player of less skill, but especially a beginner or a self taught musician. There isn’t any encouragement, there aren’t any words of praise, and there certainly isn’t any compassion or fellow feeling. Love for music transcends time….. and training.

Even if the person who plays sounds like a child banging on their piano, at least tolerate one or two songs before changing the subject.

I’ll give you an example of snobbery:

I offered to play for a friend of my husband. He hasn’t received many lessons, (according to him, my hubby says differently,) but has a wonderful playing style. One of his ex-wives- who happens to be Russian- (His favourite culture- though he isn’t,) happens to be a vocal teacher. Now, I know for a fact that my voice is an extremely well developed voice, and I have a certain quality to it that makes mine very distinct and very pleasant. I catch the ear of many who hear me play and sing. I was told that when his ex-wife next came to the area he would ask her to meet with me so that SHE could tell me if I had a good voice or not. (What The Hell?????)

That hurt so much, and really dented my confidence. After his visit I played and sang, and once again my abilities reassured me that YES, I CAN sing, and I CAN play.

Never, ever tell someone to stop playing, or that you don’t want to hear them at all. It can kill the love that someone has, especially if they’re only novices. Who among us has the right to kill love of music in our fellow man? Who has the right to take away the joys of sharing our feelings with others through song? If you have a hard time listening to their playing because they’re hacking a piece, offer to give them a few tips, and to relax. A lot of times people hack their way through songs out of sheer nervousness. One or two songs, and offer a new subject of conversation. But never shoot someone down cold heartedly.

Remember, you who have been classically trained, that you too were once novices!! I’m sure there were many moments that YOUR parents thought of shutting the keyboard lid on YOUR fingers.

No one is perfect, so when someone offers to open themselves up, give their piece a chance.

I remember that when I was in grade 5 I would tidy the kindergarten rooms because they had pianos in them. It was worth the agony of having to pick up after other people, as I hate to tidy after anyone, butI got access to play and explore the instrument. I remember coming up with little diddies of my own, nothing complicated at all, but timed well, and had a few different “lines” as I think of them. (I think with words, since with me the words have always come first.)

It was one of the longest times I had access, and could let the fingers learn to do their own thing, and the sounds evolve into slightly more complex pieces. It really stamped into me the creative longing that would fill the rest of my life. Unlike other times I wasn’t scolded, told to quit as I had no idea what I was doing, or remanded for being repetitive. I wasn’t mocked for my lack of skill by fellow students as they never heard me. The kindergarten rooms were my safe haven in a tumultuous time in my life. It was a painful childhood I suffered through, and music always was something that took me out of it. Being able to make my own was an emotional salve, antibiotic for my soul, and let my brain rest for a few minutes each day. Walking on eggshells, darting verbal bullets, running scared, those things are all very tiring even for an adult.

I used to, for years, envision what it would be like to have my own piano. To hit the keys, softly, fast, angrily, slowly, and to feel the resonance coming from the box through my chest. I could remember the way I felt in grade 5, you see, and it would at times bring tears to my eyes, even laying in bed trying to sleep, dreaming while still awake. Of course, in my dreams the pieces I played were vastly superior to what I could actually play, which was virtually nothing. LOL!

I started babysitting when I was 14 and two of the houses I sat at had pianos. All of a sudden my hands decided they’d had enough on their own, and I started to work with two hands. If anyone were to have been a fly on the wall they would have laughed at the great effort I made, the concentration I had, and the way my tongue sticks out a bit to the side when I’m doing it. It still does that, and in in other things than music. (It’s funny when you’re cutting someone’s hair and they let you know that when you’re doing a particularly difficult section that requires extra concentration, that your tongue sticks out to the side a bit. Also, to then realize you do it every time you are doing a particularly difficult section. LMAO!!)

I remember, throughout my entire life that while listening to the same songs as my contemporaries, they were all hooked onto the beats, and the words. They liked bands because other people liked them. I always preferred the music that had fullness to it. Music that had emotion put into it. To this day I’ve got a soft spot for certain artists that no one else my age would dare tell anyone they liked.  (Also, there is a certain artist who I have literally been chastized for liking, because he isn’t a real piano player or composer, but new-age, so he’s no one and so are the people who like him. Ok, it’s Yanni. His music tugs at my heartstrings. Especially “Nostalgia” from his “Live At The Acropolis” album. Makes me cry almost every time I hear it!)

I got a gift immediately after my mom kicked my abusive, oppressive stepfather out. We had a friend with one of those club-store cards, and she took us there one day. Spur of the moment my mom saw a large selection of keyboards. We tried them all out and we decided the one with the best piano sound was the Yamaha PSR-200. We had quite a bit of fun doing it, too. Then, she just went and bought it for me!! I cried right then and there in the store. (She’s still my biggest fan and supporter.)  As soon as we got home I plugged it in, and have never stopped making music since. I was 18 at the time. I’m 35 right now.

The keyboard came with the usual information book, instruction manual, song book for it’s demo songs. Inside, at the back, there was the huge list of basic chords for the keyboard that I’ve mentioned in the past. There is a single finger chord mode, and then a full chord mode. By pressing on the chord, I started on full right away, with the beat of your choice you could make easy music. It was so simple, and the sounds that started coming out fed me. I was so hungry to create, and never realized how starved I really was. (It’s astonishing how being stifled can be gotten used to, and how you forget after a while what it feels like to have ever been filled.)

The first song I every figured out was “The Rose.” I only knew the first verse, but it didn’t stop me. I played it over and over and over………………………… (I eventually learned all 4 verses, but for a while it was the only song I knew through and through so it got played to death.)

I have 2 younger sisters who lived at home as well. (They will hate ”The Rose,” forever.)To this day they can’t stand my musical ability. I would sing and sing back then, and they got sicker and sicker of it. I taught myself how to play and sing, and they hated it more. I started to teach myself harmonies, and would, (and still do,) sing harmony to the car radio. I started to play-by-ear, figuring out the sounds I heard in my favorite songs, and making them my own. I would put spins on things, create my own renditions, and got slagged for it by my siblings, and their friends. The rift grew between us, but it never stopped me. My mother was so supportive, and any time our friends came over she got me to perform for them. I had a great little fan base with her friends, and they eventually became my friends. To this day they all love my music.

I started to write my own music one day. I’d always been interested in writing poetry, and Lord knows I had enough of my own already under my belt. Writing poems specifically for music became my next challenge, and with a classical acoustic guitar I bought for $100 at a garage sale and taught myself how to play, I embraced it with a vigor I’d never experienced before.  I wrote, and still do write, only with chords I knew/know.

Making music has not just changed my life, it’s given me a life.