Please pardon the pun, but yesterday's post seemed to strike a chord with people. What is it about music lessons, more than any other childhood attempts to learn something, that causes so much regret, unfulfilled longings, diasppointment at lack of opportunity or desire to try (again) in later life? Is it that the ability to sing or to play an instrument gives pleasure, and as music is an 'immediate' art form, it has a unique ability to entertain? If you can make music in some way, you have a creative and interpretative outlet, and because music's energy is so emotionally powerful, it connects with people to a degree that writing or art cannot - as easily - do.
This is a vast subject which can't be explored in a paragraph or two, but thinking about it reminded me of a simply lovely book I read a couple of years ago.
The Piano Shop on the Left Bank: The Hidden World of a Paris Atelier
Carhart writes of his own musical education, beginning with Madame Gaillard in Paris as a young child when his father was stationed there, continuing in Virginia with Miss Pemberton at whose recital evenings he had to perform, an experience like "holding my breath and swimming under water until I reached the other side". Then moving on to lessons with his Parisian teacher, Anna, having at last bought an instrument of his own. "Re-entering the world of the piano as an adult gradually brought me a series of revelations about the practice of self-discipline.."
Carhart's immense knowledge and touching enthusiasm for his subject are communicated effortlessly and in a way which should 'sound true' to any musician or music-lover. It is a delight, and whether you favour a Steinway over a Fazioli, a Pleyel or an Erard (or have yet to form an opinion on the subject) in the words of the book's final sentence, you come away with the distinct impression that "you can never have too many dream pianos". It made me see my own in a new light.
