Tuesday, May 10, 2011


It was beautiful when you heard it the first time at an agency you worked in where a colleague played it between ideas. There in underlying sense of soft pain and anguish in these notes, was how you felt. Maybe the composer lost someone or something precious and wrote this right after that. A gossamer pain, it disappears if you try to hold it. So you ask your friend to teach as your colleague can only play it. It’s time for lesson number 2 on a lazy Sunday at your friend’s house. He’s moved now from the house with the verandah and strewn leaves. It’s a walk-up in the older part of town. A lot of elderly people live around here. A colleague you met a few days ago is sharing the apartment with him and you talk about books and work over a cup of tea till the master is ready. He warns you about the barre chords in this song that might make it more difficult, but as always it’s about practicing regularly, he adds. As you learn the two parts over the next few Sundays, you realise your fingers have never been stretched like this ever. You also learn that the plucking style is simple it's the left hand movement that's difficult. But it’s rewarding when you can actually play it as close to the original as possible. You get over the barre worry, and play, practicing over and over, and at some point the melody takes over and you just play.

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