Seattle, Washington will be our home for the foreseeable future, and I gotta say, it feels great to have a long term address again. Moving every three to five months is a great way to experience living in a lot of different places, but just the act of filling out the staggering list of past residences every time I applied for a new job or short term lease has caused more than one panic attack.

Speaking of jobs, I wasted no time getting back in the ol’ teaching saddle, and the results have been a mixture of positives and negatives. One positive is that Seattle, like just about anywhere else in the world, contains plenty of people who want to learn to play piano and sing. In a world where automation will soon threaten jobs in just about every field, I feel pretty confident about people continuing to pay their fellow humans to teach them music.

The negative side of that is that Seattle is already overrun with music teachers who have lived here all their lives and established themselves long before I even set foot here. In and of itself, it’s not really that big of a problem. Like I said, there’s plenty of potential students here. I don’t need thousands of them, just a couple dozen or so. But it does present a fresh challenge: I have no community presence here, no one who can vouch for me. Sure, I’ve got a few good Yelp reviews, but those are years old and from the opposite coast. And in the meantime, there’s bills to pay.

So I did what many have done before me: I sold out. I hired on with two different established companies here to get introduced to the musical community. It has felt a little disorienting going from a free-wheeling independent to a mysterious new guy. Starting over is never easy, it seems. I should know, having had lots of practice over the past two years. But what’s the alternative? Unemployment? Hit the lottery? Time-travel? A bare minimum of one of those things is absolutely never going to happen for me.

This brings me to the greatest positive of this whole experience. A wise man once told me that learning what you don’t want is just as important–if not more important–as finding out what you do want. Teaching f’s or companies again has reminded me of why I struck out on my own in the first place: being an employee sucks.

I don’t mean to disparage anyone caught in the proverbial rat race or throw shade at these companies themselves. I just dislike submitting to someone else’s way of doing things, especially considering that I have already tasted the freedom of doing it for myself. It’s kind of like switching from decaf coffee to regular before circumstances force you to switch back to decaf. I assume. I don’t know that I’ve ever willingly consumed decaf coffee.

For now, I’m alright teaching for someone else while I get my own studio up and running. (Fun fact: that’s exactly how I got the first studio off the ground). And it looks like it might happen sooner than expected. I recently found a place near my neighborhood that rents a room with a piano for a very reasonable cost. It has some less than ideal qualities (more on that in a different post) but at the end of the day, it still has everything I really need.

So yeah, as demoralizing as starting from scratch once again feels sometimes, I’m gonna continue soldiering on. After all, I was the best boss I ever had and I can’t wait to work for me again.

Either way, I’m calling it. 2016 is dead to me.

via GIPHY

I’m officially beginning 2017 four weeks early. And to kick it off, I’m starting on my new year’s resolution early as well. I usually don’t bother with them, but when you consider how soul crushingly terrible this past year this has been, it can’t hurt to try something new.

Two days after the election–which for me was like the rancid cherry on top of the turd sundae that was 2016–Claire and I moved for the third time this year. Yes, we’re still traveling, though we’ve just about had our fill. There’s always a lot of mixed emotions whenever we move followed by a brief period of excitement for living in a new place, followed by a longer period of anxiety as I try to figure out what to do with my life.

This length of time usually lasts until I can get my bearings and find work, usually around a week or two tops. This go round hasn’t been so easy. We’ve been in San Bruno for three weeks and I still can’t seem to shake this funk. It could be a number of things, but what I think is really going on in my crazy brain is that after all this traveling, I don’t have anything I can point to and say “I did this.”

I mean, there are a few little things. I’ve arranged a lot of music for my students and myself. I wrote a few articles for the indie paper in Corvallis that I’m proud of.  My aforementioned novel is still in progress, though it’s a mess and unfit for human eyes. I’ve even started to learn basic coding and began working on a music theory game but that, too, won’t be suitable for consumption for a long time.

One thing I can say for sure: I’m a creative person. I need to make things, even imperfect things. Hell, even low-quality things. But where I’ve failed has been in sharing these things I make. I don’t have a good reason for not sharing. I probably just want to shelter myself from criticism, but what good does that ever do? And what good is a great idea if kept to oneself?

This brings me back to my resolution, which is this: I’m going to produce and share something once a week, starting with this blog post. It may not be the next great American novel or song that makes Bohemian Rhapsody irrelevant, buy by God, it’ll be something I made.

Happy New Year, everybody. It’s gonna be better than the last one.

So here’s a brief recap: In Phoenix I managed to get a part time manual labor job. It wasn’t really anything to get excited about, but I was grateful to have something to make me feel useful. The only problem was the hours which could range from a full 40  one week to five or six the next. It’s no one’s fault; it’s just what was available and I was happy to have work. I just didn’t realize how much a lack of routine could throw me off.  

From there we moved to the Denver area. I assumed finding work in my home state of Colorado would be way easier since I know a lot of locals, and it did start off promising. My brother Josh works for a company that makes mobile video games and he was reasonably sure he could get me a contract job as a game tester. That sounds like a perfect job for someone like me, but let me assure you it’s not as fun as it sounds. The sole task of a tester is basically finding bugs (i.e. break the game) and reporting them to someone else to fix.

Still, I was up for trying something new so dusted off the ol’ resume and drove to Boulder for an interview. Long story short, it didn’t pan out. They only had two open slots and there were two other applicants with actual testing experience. I didn’t mind being passed over so much, but what really frustrated me was the fact that it took the company almost three weeks to tell me that I didn’t get the job. Even Josh only found out a day before I did. In the meantime, I thought it was a lock and hadn’t really looked elsewhere for a job.

Even though I had lost those three weeks, I decided it was a good thing in the end. It would have been a tedious and boring job with a 2+ hour commute every day. Who wants to drive that much? So…I ended up working for Uber.

It really isn’t a bad gig; I got to make my own schedule and explore Denver, a city I’ve been to several times but never as an adult with my own car. Uber can also be a fun kind of social experiment. You never know what sort of wacky characters will climb into your car and strike up a conversation about brain surgery or Mapquest. Fun fact: did you know that’s still a thing? And it’s based in Denver? Neither did I.

On top of that, I felt like I was providing a truly useful service to people. My one complaint was that the work itself was wildly inconsistent. I had a few days where I’d get continuous rides for two or three straight hours, but more often than not I’d end up alone in a parking lot waiting around.

I had one other Denver job prospect playing at a piano bar downtown that I was really excited about, but once again it took a long time for the hiring process to go through and by the time I’d been confirmed as a trainee, Claire found out that a) she couldn’t get an extension for her Colorado contract and b) she got an amazing offer from the hospital at Stanford. Fortunately the manager at the piano bar was understanding and told me to contact him if we end up in Denver again, so at least the bridge remains unburned. 

So it’s been a challenging time for me. I knew it would be, but I think I overestimated how difficult it is to find meaningful work when you’re moving every three months.

I know this all sounds whiny, and I apologize for that. I really don’t have reason to complain. I did actually find work in some less-than-ideal circumstances and I’m grateful to those who took a chance and hired me. It’s all part of what I signed up for and I know I am really, REALLY lucky to be doing it.

And it’s not like I’ve been sitting on the couch griping about my lot in life. I’ve still got a few interesting things going on. For one, I started writing a novel, and for two, I’ve finally gotten over how silly I feel when I say it out loud. I don’t know why I ever felt that way. Maybe I just didn’t want to set up anyone’s expectations. I really don’t know what I’m doing, but at the end of the day, I’m enjoying doing it. 

Claire and I have used our free time to explore the great outdoors. One of the great things about being in the west is that there is no shortage of mountains, canyons, and wide open spaces to hike and/or camp in and we’re determined to make some memories in them. I will refer you once again to her blog as it contains our best pictures.

I’m still teaching too! I’ve got new students here in the bay area as well as regular online lessons with a few of my old students from North Carolina. There’s a lot I still miss about NC, but it’s amazing that I can take that small part of it with me. And I can’t stress enough how good it feels to know that I’m still a teacher, nomad or not. 

I guess the lesson I’ve taken from this experience thus far is this: every time, location, and job opportunity are going to fall short of ideal in some way, and some things are bound to be inconsistent regardless of the circumstances. There’s only one thing that can be truly reliable: me. I’ve got to make things happen even when there’s not as much time as I would like. I think I’ll do better in California. But, to quote the wise man: “We’ll see.”

Live music isn’t hard to find and often it’s even given away for free, though tips are always appreciated (especially at the Vox Virorum concert at First Prebyterian Church at 305 E. Main St. in Durham this coming Sunday the 19th @ 4:00 PM and also I may or may not be singing a solo in it) but not required.

There are plenty of ways to enjoy music and, unfortunately, just as many ways to make it harder for other people. Over the years I’ve attended hundreds of concerts, recitals, and performances. I’ve seen things…acts of thoughtlessness that range from the negligent to the supremely negligent.

Most if not all of these infractions, I believe, are unintentional and a lot of folks just don’t know any better. But that means these acts of indecency are preventable. I’ve been writing about some of the worst things I’ve witnessed at live performances off the stage and, if enough people can learn these simple rules, we can all make music a better place to be, or at least attend concerts without appearing like complete jackasses.

**Note: I’m using the term “concert” in reference to the more formal sort of musical performance: symphonies, musicals, jazz concerts–the sort of show where you’d expect more sitting still and listening than dancing/jumping/throwing of undergarments on the stage/etc.**

Let’s start with an easy one:

Rule #1. Seriously, turn your cellphone OFF. 

Last year, I attended a Women’s Voices Chorus concert in Chapel Hill (and will be doing so again next weekend). Claire had been selected to sing a solo. She has a lovely voice (she minored in vocal performance during her undergrad) and had practiced diligently leading up to the concert but still felt nervous. I wasn’t even allowed to listen to her rehearse and had looked forward to this concert for some time.

The piece she was to solo on was part of a Catholic mass, Kyrie Elieson, meaning “God have mercy on us.” Claire, like a good recovering Catholic, has developed quite the talent for expressing guilt and it made her a great choice for this particular solo. Her voice shook with the agony of some secret,  burden. As this solemn prayer for mercy swelled to its tormented climax, the moment was shattered by this sound:

[youtube watch?v=hJlzIOFFw04 nolink]

The culprit frantically rummaged through her purse to silence her phone but the damage was done. The solo faded out underneath the din of her shuffling around and the sound of my eyeball twitching with repressed rage. I imagine she began her own solemn prayer for mercy but clearly I was in no mood to grant it.

I’m a bit of a crotchety old man and think we could all stand a little more time with our phones turned off in general so my compassion is already pretty low in this area, but is it even possible to feel sympathy when someone gets caught disregarding so simple a plea for common courtesy? For this particular concert, the audience received no fewer than three reminders (one written and two verbal) to silence electronic devices. That’s more than you’d hear on an international flight about the oxygen masks, flotation devices, and other features that could save your life should your plane crash. 

It’s bad enough when this happens at the movies or library, but neglecting to power down during a concert means you not only run the risk of not only looking like a thoughtless jerk, but it’s possible you could end up robbing someone you don’t even know of a significant moment that will never come again. It probably won’t happen but it’s not worth the risk. Please, do everyone a favor and just turn the blasted thing off.

It’s hard to put in to words what theory is. I compare it to the grammar and usage rules of a foreign language. Sure, you can get by without ever learning them, but if you want to seriously master the language, learn to read or write, or better understand it in general, absorbing these fundamentals is the most effective way–and the most tedious.

Fortunately, technology is making it easier…or at least more accessible. Tenuto is an app and website dedicated to music theory. It contains over a dozen exercises and quizzes for that range from the basics (name the white keys on the keyboard) to the scary (is this a diminished seventh chord or a half-diminished seventh chord?). Everyone from the struggling music major to the casual guitarist can have an impromptu skill-sharpening session any time. 

There’s a section of the website dedicated to theory lessons that explain in detail a variety of different musical concepts with animated step-by-step visuals, but I could see this being confusing for a lot of people. It’s hard for me to say (I do kinda know this stuff already) but I think most people will be better off having someone guide them through rather trying to figure it all out by themselves. I could be wrong, though.

When I teach, Tenuto serves as a set of high-tech flashcards. I constantly quiz my students over note names, key signatures, chords, etc. and can easily switch from one thing to the next. The quizzes are easy to customize so I can make a less-challenging version younger students. Tenuto randomizes the questions keeps a running tally of correct answers and against number of answers (you don’t pass a question until you answer correctly) and gives the percentage as your score. I don’t punish them if they get a low score; for most students, a low score is punishment enough, and it usually only takes one or two more sessions before scores improve dramatically. 

The website contains all the features that the app does, but I think Tenuto’s at it’s highest level of effectiveness on smartphones and tablets. Do you ever notice how kids seem drawn to screens? They eagerly figure out how to make apps work, and this applies doubly for games, which is why I recommend presenting it to young students if you’re a parent or teacher. It’s like they have an innate desire to win and will redouble their efforts if they think they can. I highly recommend shelling out the $5 for the app for this reason alone.

So Tenuto comes highly recommend for teachers, but I can also recommend it as a student. If you’ve been following my exploits, you know I’ve been teaching myself guitar recently <insert link> and that I need all the practice I can get. There a few quizzes dedicated to the guitar which, when I remember to take them before practice, cut down immensely on the time it takes me to figure things like scales or melodies out. Also, the ear-training portion of the app is the next best thing this side of a music degree.

If there is one thing that could make Tenuto better, it would probably be a section dedicated to rhythm. It’s really the only aspect of theory that’s not really represented. Fortunately, the developers continue to update the content , so this may eventually be rectified in the future. 

I should mention that I’m not receiving any kind of compensation for this review. I’ve never been paid to endorse anything, actually, which is a shame because I would totally take someone’s money to write some nice things about a product I really thought was useful (I’d probably do it even I thought the product was just meh). Every now and again, though, someone creates something truly exceptional and I have no choice but to wave my endorsement fees and give credit where credit is due.  

On the other hand, casual games are becoming more common and accessible thanks to the prevalence of smartphones and tablets. I would hope that the cliche of the pale, socially-awkward gamer had begun to fade, but it’s still as popular as it ever was. Despite everyone’s grandmother playing Candy Crush or Farmville nowadays, not many people would argue that games serve a higher purpose other than mindless entertainment and fewer still would declare that they can actually teach us anything.

It probably won’t surprise anyone to find out that I’m about to do exactly those two things. And even though I’d love to rush to the defense of games by citing numerous instances when movies and TV have glorified violence in worse ways than games have or by discussing other addictive media-based escape-fantasies that non-gamers are prone to (*ahem* Facebook), I would rather contend that behind the simulated zombie slaying are valuable lessons to be learned, that the positive and constructive experiences consistently found in games far outweigh the negative ones.

My own childhood abounded with such experiences, and although not every game enriched my little sponge-like brain, here are five examples of specific games I played that I believe prepared me in some way for the journey of musicianship. I should note that I am not a neurologist or game designer and that there is no specific scientific research behind these particular claims. These are all my own personal accounts and the conclusions I draw are entirely my own. If you want a real scientist’s word, here are a few things you should read.

1. The Legend of Zelda taught me that learning is a challenge and challenges can be overcome.

For those of you who have never played a game, allow me to sum up the basic premise of 98% of video games: You play as hero of some sort (fighter pilot, mysterious warrior, vaguely ethnic plumber) with some kind of quest to accomplish (save the princess, slay the dragon, blow up the Death Star). You have a set of skills you become familiar with through a tutorial or the trial and error of pushing buttons. Usually you will unlock or discover new skills that help you through various stages and challenges until said quest is accomplished.

Sound analogous to learning an instrument? Shoot, replace “save the princess” with “play Für Elise” and it’s practically identical to piano lessons, even down to the button-pushing part.

Personally, this hero-on-a-quest mentality prevalent in most games really primed my brain for the challenge of making music. No game illustrates this more beautifully than The Legend of Zelda on NES. For starters, this game’s quest is a double-whammy: you save the princess by slaying dragons and other mythical beasties.

Monster destruction wasn’t even the challenging part, though. You had to find your way through elaborate labyrinths complete with traps, locked doors, and secret passageways. You usually had to locate a map, compass, and a specific tool hidden before parts of the dungeon were even accessible. Even after you found your way to the end and slew the head beastie, there were no specific instructions on where in the vast world to continue the quest, save for the occasional vague riddle.

Beating games like this is a matter of grit, or at least it was in the pre-internet days. You couldn’t just look up the answer; you had to explore or experiment your way to a solution which always takes a good deal of resolve. Also, nothing feels as good as the moment you realize one of your crazy ideas worked.

Zelda helped me realize that challenges are often just a matter of having the right tools and figuring out how to use them. In music, viewing obstacles this way made a huge difference in my determination to learn music I love. After all I went through to save the princess, it actually seems pretty easy by comparison.

2. Diablo taught me to try, try again…and when that doesn’t work, try something else. 

Perseverance alone won’t win the day. For example, when slaying that dragon: if the battle axe fails over and over, why keep trying it? Rethink your strategy instead. Perhaps a different weapon? Maybe get your armor dragon-proofed? Really good games offer multiple paths to success and reward you for thinking outside the box. Maybe you’ll find out the dragon is just misunderstood and actually quite reasonable when engaged in rational conversation. 

Games encourage us to look at problems from different angles, to consider multiple paths to achieve our goals. Challenges get more difficult as the game progresses and your success hinges on how wisely you use your skills. Your ability to problem solve and make adjustments to your play style determines the level of your success.

One of my favorite examples of this is my battle with the Butcher in Diablo, a PC game with only two objectives: slay bad guys and get loot. It’s a tried-and-true formula that endures even to this day.

The first really tough baddie you face in Diablo is The Butcher. One might expect a creature with such a diabolical name to look something like this:

…and one would be correct.

The Butcher is a pretty early fight in Diablo, meaning there wasn’t a lot of time to improve my skills or find better weapons and armor before I had to face him. He, on the other had, has a massive cleaver and…well, an apron, but trust me, he’s a tough cookie. Much like the aforementioned dragon, charging right at him did not end well. At my wits end, I resorted to looking up a more clever solution in a guidebook for the game.

I wish I was clever enough to think of it myself because this strategy was sheer genius. All I had to do was lure him to a corridor where I could slam a door in his face but still see him through a metal grate (apparently he’s not that bright). From there, I used a trusty bow and about a hundred arrows to chip away at his health through the grate until he dropped.

It wasn’t honorable or heroic but I didn’t care. I got to use his shiny cleaver after that! At the end of the day, I found a strategy that allowed me to achieve what I wanted to achieve. There are no rules and no “right” way to do this.

Tackling a musical challenge is no different. Ask yourself, “What am I doing differently this week?” If the answer is “Nothing,” then it’s time to brainstorm different ways to practice. Often it comes down to working on a single aspect of a particular skill, like coordination or timing. Find something that works for you and move on. (Bonus lesson: Don’t be afraid or ashamed to ask for help).

3. Rebel Assault taught me to admit I needed to dumb down the difficulty.

Many games feature varying levels of difficulty for players, something along the lines of Easy, Normal, Hard, and occasionally a super-challenging mode called Expert or Soul-Crushing or something of the like. For most games, this is an important feature as the learning curve of one game may be much steeper than another. It’s often a good idea to try the easy mode while you learn the mechanics of the game before trying the more difficult modes (a lesson I learned the hard way more than once).

Music has it’s own difficulty level, and I don’t just meant the literal one printed on many books (beginner, intermediate, etc). There exists another difficulty level, and it’s a self-imposed one: the tempo (speed) which you attempt to play. Precision comes with slow and deliberate practice, but who has the patience for that? You want to play this song now. It’s the same impatience that tricks you into thinking you can reach your fitness goals with more effort at the gym.

Learning to admit when I can’t play something at full speed and pace myself took quite a bit of humility. Fortunately, I got some practice from an ancient CD-ROM game called Rebel Assault in which I played as a rookie pilot in the Star Wars universe. I certainly felt like a rookie because I couldn’t get past the initial training mission. This was the first time I used a joystick as opposed to a handheld controller and I remember experiencing terrible frustration as I watched my star-fighter explode again and again.

Still, I wanted–no needed to improve; the fate of the Rebellion hung in the balance after all. But I just couldn’t do it. Fortunately, the game had an easy mode which apparently reinforced my fragile ship with a stronger alloy or something so it wouldn’t blow up so readily. I was able to get used to the joystick and develop the skills I needed to save the galaxy (eat your heart out, Skywalker). None of it would have been possible if I hadn’t just slowed things down for myself and the same has proven true for countless piano pieces I’ve learned.

4. Double Dragon 2 taught me that repetition is the key to improving your skills.

All skills are basically the same. You’ll need those 10,000 hours of practice regardless of what it is you want to master. Double Dragon 2 on the NES taught me this harsh reality by introducing me to the Cyclone-Kick, a deadly move I initially discovered completely on accident.

That probably bears some explanation: In DD2, you (and a friend if you had one handy) had to go beat up some bad guys. I don’t really remember why…they may have kidnapped your girlfriend or something. It’s not really important. What is important is mastering the Cyclone-Kick.

Now this will shock the younger gamers out there, but game controllers on the NES used to only have two buttons. In brawler games like DD2, this usually meant one button punched and the other kicked. You could jump, but you had to press both buttons simultaneously to do so and the game was unforgiving about the timing. 

To perform the legendary cyclone kick required jumping, then moving in lateral direction while simultaneously pressing the kick button once the avatar had reached the pinnacle of the jump. Again, I can’t stress how precise the game demanded these steps be. At this point in my life, the Cyclone-Kick was the most complex execution of motor skills I had ever attempted and I include the three years of piano lessons preceding it.

Needless to say, I toiled away learning this move. It was just too satisfying to watch foes flying away from me as I spun wildly through the air like a little Nintendo tornado. A Nintenado? You have no idea how difficult that just was for me to spell. In any case, dibs on that if it’s not already someone’s Twitter handle. (I checked: it is).

I won’t go so far as to say that I applied the same tenacity to my musical study, but I have no doubt that practicing this very specific thing made me a lot more conscious of the concept of timing as well as the subtle nuances a split second’s difference can create. It’s an ability any musician needs to deeply embed in their subconscious, so why not get some extra practice by kicking some bad guys in the face? 

The bottom line: repetition helps you learn. Even having someone tell you the same idea twice but phrasing it in a slightly different way can be useful in the pursuit of knowledge. That’s because repetition helps you learn.

5. Mario Kart 64 taught me that if you got it, flaunt it. 

Do anything for long enough and you’ll become pretty good at it. But then what? What’s it all for? I’m not sure how to answer that other than I suppose it depends on the skill we’re talking about. If that skill happens to be a video game, though, there is only one answer: pwn your friends. 

The only game I ever reached that level of mastery in was an older version of the popular racing franchise Mariokart for the Nintendo 64. For at least a six month period, I was nearly unbeatable. My reputation was reinforced in many a basement as I would thrash my friends with considerable consistency. 

I’ve always been a competitive person, but I also used to be extremely shy. I used to go out of my way to avoid attention from other people, even positive attention. It’s funny to think of my friends hearing this normally quiet person cackling with mad delight as he trashed them for the fifth time in a row. It felt so good to hear my friends admit, even grudgingly, that I was good at this.

I’m not advocating arrogance or bad sportsmanship, but something that you might not understand if you’re not or never were a shy person is how tempting it can be to hold yourself back from other people. Avoiding the spotlight allows you to hide your failures from other people and even though it also conceals your success, some of us would rather have the safety of just feeling like a “normal” person.

There’s nothing wrong with keeping to yourself, but there’s a difference between that and hiding from the world out of irrational fear. With music, it’s nearly impossible to behave like this and survive, but I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of crossing that line. I’ve refused to play the piano at a party because I didn’t want to seem like a show-off or talked myself out of entering a song-writing contest or going to an open-mic night because I worried people wouldn’t like my music or my haircut or just me as a person. I know it’s silly, but it’s the kind of thing that keeps a lot of good musicians, artists, writers, poets, and other creatives down.

To be honest, this is the lesson I’m still learning, but I feel like I’m slowly but surely progressing. Not unlike my superb Kart-Kontrol and deadly precision with a green shell, it’s just a matter of time and patience.

As excited as I am to wear sweatpants all the time and generally just let myself go and become a curmudgeonly old man next year, there’s a part of me that still desperately clings to my waning youth. There’s still a lot of irresponsible things I haven’t done! I’ve haven’t stolen a car or hitchhiked across the Mexican border or anything else you can only get away with when you’re young.

I figured I’d start at the top of the list: Become a rock star. So, in the spirit of this last-ditch, Hail Mary effort at rock legend status, I figured the best place to start was to learn to play some guitar and the best time was now.

It’s not that I don’t know how to play any guitar at all. In fact, and this is pretty embarrassing, I’ve had a guitar for several years now and, beyond learning how to play a bunch of chords and a few acoustic songs I like, I haven’t pursued it much. It wasn’t for lack of interest; I just got pretty good at the piano over the past 20 years and it can be really hard going back to square one with a new instrument. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

The time for excuses has come to a close now. I decided that it’s time I believe for myself what I tell other people all the time: you can’t be too old to learn a new instrument.

I think this will provide something pretty interesting to write about, namely because it’s an excellent way to get into the mindset of a student again. I’ll probably even take a few lessons from some guitar teachers, either with one of the teachers I know or on the ZOEN. I’ve been teaching for so long and found my own rhythm (forgive me) as teacher that I’ve started to forget what it feels like to grind through the challenges and develop the new skills I dream of having. 

To give myself some accountability, I’ll be posting about my progress on this blog. Anyone who has followed this blog for a while, first of all, thanks! I have no idea who you are (besides you, Mom) but I appreciate it, I really do. You may also remember the time I tried to keep a running practice journal for my day-to-day piano practice a few years back and may understandably doubt my ability to consistently post about something like that.

I’ve learned a few things since then, namely that, at least for people like me, going from rarely posting to daily posting is nearly impossible. That’s why this time around, I’m not setting any kind of preconceived schedule for how often I’ll post or anything like that. The guitar practice is my own responsibility, but it’s only a responsibility to myself. I’ll write about it when I feel there’s something to write about, but I won’t attempt to track it meticulously, at least not at the present.

I hope watching me struggle inspires someone out there to try something similar, but if nothing else it should be good for a few laughs. Feel free to harass me if I don’t keep up with it. Lord knows I do that enough myself.

Before I get started, I need to make the distinction between a keyboard and a piano. This may be obvious to a lot of people, but I have encountered a few who weren’t sure of the difference. This was due to confusion about the term “digital piano” which is, in fact, not a piano.

Allow me to explain: Pianos create sound by causing metal strings to vibrate within a wooden cabinet; keyboards create sound by transmitting electronic signals through embedded speakers. I’ve came up with a rhyme to help you remember:

Need electricity? It’s a keyboard, you see. No wires or buttons? It’s piano! Have some mutton.

Note that I didn’t say it was a great rhyme. Here’s the rest of what you need to know:

Piano vs Keyboard

In short: get the piano if you have the space. Piano keys offer a certain amount of resistance that demand proper posture and technique to get the best sound out of them. Players who learn on keyboards don’t develop that same level of fine motor control.

What’s more, and this will sound a little hippy-dippy, but pianos have a soul and a character that’s just impossible to replicate with a keyboard. It’s difficult to explain to the uninitiated. Keyboards, while useful, just don’t have the same feel to them. It’s a tool: but a pianos are instruments.

Still, there are a few practical reasons you might consider getting a keyboard instead; they’re easily portable, they don’t require any upkeep, and you can use headphones with them. Keyboards generally have a few bells and whistles like different instruments sounds and MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) which allows the keyboard to communicate with a computer.

If you’re set on getting a keyboard but still intend on learning how to play piano, buy a full-size keyboard (88 keys) with weighted keys. The resistance isn’t quite as solid as a piano, but it’s better than nothing. You may come across the term “velocity-sensitive keys” but this isn’t the same thing as weighted keys; it only means you can change how loud a key plays by pressing it harder even though the resistance on them is still negligible.

If you’re still not sure whether or not your kid will stick with lessons, keyboards are an inexpensive way to test the waters. If he or she develops a keen interest, though, buckle down and get the piano (worth being the first and last bit of advice).

Shop Around

The fact that you’re reading this means that the research has already begun. But before you start Googling the nearest music store, I recommend giving your personal network a chance to find a piano for you. Make a few phone calls or post an inquiry on Facebook. Chances are you know someone who may have an instrument they’re willing–or even desperate–to part with. The number of pianos in need of a good home within your circle of friends may astonish you.

Also, don’t completely write off classified sites like Craigslist. “Buyer Beware” is one’s natural motto when dealing with Craig but, not unlike your neighborhood thrift store, there can be treasure buried amongst the garbage. I found a great deal on my keyboard with a combination of patience and luck (mostly luck). You never know what’ll happen if you’re in the right place at the right time.

Failing that, a retail store will probably have a higher price, but there’s definitely something to be said for a warranty and quality guarantee. Most places will include moving and the first tuning in the retail price (haggle for it if they don’t). Hey, speaking of haggling…

Let’s Talk Turkey

Price is always an important factor, although, like any big purchase, the more expensive but higher quality item will usually prove worth it in the long run. That said, keep in mind you can easily spend more on a quality upright piano than you would on a quality used car. 

It’s tough to estimate, but if I were to ballpark it I’d say the average going rate for a brand new upright piano is roughly $1,000-$4,000. Many retailers will also have deals on refurbished used pianos which will run more like $700-$2,000.

If buying used from an independent seller, don’t forget to factor in the cost of moving and tuning if it isn’t already included. If the piano hasn’t been cared for, the maintenance on the piano could prove pricey. Avoid buying anything that hasn’t been tuned in more than three years.

A decent keyboard with weighted keys retails around $600-$1,200. There are still additional costs to anticipate, namely a sturdy stand, a damper pedal, and a stool or bench, which would add around $100 or so to the pricetag. 

Think of it as any other investment. Determine what fits your situation best and what you’re willing to spend ahead of time. Just remember that, as always, you’ll get what you pay for.

]]> https://ivoryman.com/how-to-buy-a-piano-a-guide/feed/ 0 https://ivoryman.com/the-one-thing-every-musician-needs/ https://ivoryman.com/the-one-thing-every-musician-needs/#respond Mon, 22 Jul 2013 15:44:37 +0000 http://www.www.ivoryman.com/?p=807 Get a metronome. Today.

Human beings have this knack for tricking ourselves into believing we have something all figured out. One of the biggest obstacles this little quirk presents to musicians is that we aren’t always aware of the beat. We slow down or speed up when it’s convenient or cut beats out of a song entirely, usually remaining blissfully unaware of the fact.

A metronome is the silver bullet cure for this problem. Be warned, though; it’s your worst enemy as well as your best friend. The metronome won’t be reasoned with and won’t stop making it painfully obvious when and where you’re butchering the rhythm.

Sound like a pain? It kind of is, but it ultimately fine tunes one’s sense of beat and makes your rhythm tighter and more precise. As they say, no pain no gain.

I prefer a mechanical metronome with a wind up crank for general practice. Sure, electronic ones are a bit cheaper and a metronome app will do in a pinch, but having the visual advantage of seeing the pendulum conduct you as well as the satisfying tic-toc (as opposed to a harsh beep or phony sounding  woodblock) makes it seem more soothing somehow.

Yet there’s something always something missing when one of my students plays a tune learned this way. Sometimes it’s a technical thing, like an odd chord choice or off-sounding rhythm. Other times they omit a difficult part of the song that the video didn’t really explain it well, and quite often a student will admit that there’s something fishy about the way the whole thing sounds.

It never manages to surprise me.

I’m not trying to put down anyone who uses or makes tutorial videos; it’s a daunting task to try to fit all the necessary instruction for an entire song into a short video. I don’t hold it against you, but I think it’s only fair to shed light on the things you’re missing out on. Here’s a reason or four that having a teacher in the room (or on your screen) will always–always–yield better results than watching a video.

Teachers Give Feedback on the Spot

Have you ever tried to teach yourself something watching YouTube? I’d be surprised if anyone hasn’t in this day and age. You can easily find videos telling you how to change your sparkplugs, cook a goat cheese soufflé, or build a hovercraft using household items.

With most of these projects, you’ll know if you’ve succeeded or failed: the car will start or it won’t, the hovercraft hovers or remains a simple craft, and the soufflé will at the very least resemble food or you’ll call Domino’s.

Music doesn’t work quite the same way though. Not everyone has a discerning enough ear to tell when they’ve got it. I’ve taught enough to know that even when a student tells me they’ve mastered a piece of music, more than likely they’re still way off. What’s worse is when a student holds their instrument in a way that could cause injury or plays with disadvantageous posture without knowing it because the YouTube video they learned from never told them.

The bottom line: receiving feedback is a cornerstone of learning, and it’s worth every penny to hear it from someone who knows what they’re doing.

Teachers Help You Practice as Wells as Play

We all know what the road to Carnegie Hall demands: practice, and loads of it. Believe it or not, there’s an extraordinarily thin line between practicing and simply playing. When my students can’t seem to grasp a piece after weeks of honest work, my first suspicion is that they’re not practicing it properly. We usually go over the piece and pick out the sections that need the most attention and come up with a better practicing routine. More often than not, this is how they end up making their biggest breakthroughs.

Yup, my ability to devise practice strategies is why they pay me the big bucks. There’s just one catch; I need to be able to hear and see you play to do it.

Teachers Are on a Mission to Make You Better                                                                                      

If you’ve ever known a music teacher, you’ve probably realized that we’re determined individuals. When one of our students struggles with something, we’ve been there before. We’ll pour over our own years of experience and dig up every trick we’ve ever learned until you start to get it. We never say die and we don’t except excuses. Think PianoMaster1337 (whose name I have made up for legal purposes) will offer the same level of perseverance and dedication? Me neither.

Teachers Teach more than Just Notes

Every good teacher I’ve ever worked with has their own version of this maxim, so here’s mine: Music is not a melody, a series of chords, or a smattering of dots and lines on piece of paper. Music is how we shape these things, how we express what otherwise could never be expressed by such simple means.

Through all my years of instruction, this was the most essential thing I ever learned. Don’t get me wrong, my teachers had to work hard to teach me the basics too; I had to have my sense of rhythm forcibly beaten into my skull with a metronome. But it was worth it because instead of only learning to play music, I learned how to play musically, and that’s something no video can teach.