Music has always played a part in my life to some degree since the beginning of my childhood. My parents possessed quite a large collection of vinyl records, most of them from Country and Rock n Roll artists with some movie soundtracks thrown in for good measure. They had some 45rpm records, which were always the size of a small plate, but the majority of the library belonged to the 33rpm class, which usually had the circumference of a medium-sized pizza. For my part, I owned a massive number of Golden Book records, each one providing a story and at least one song. In addition to all the discs, the radio provided plenty of exposure to music of the current day. Despite this varied exposure, I tended to lean toward instrumental music as time wore on. I think a lot of this can be attributed to my grandparents on my father’s side. For they lived right next door to me.
Nanny and Papa always invited me in whenever I came knocking on the door, usually the sliding glass door in the back. A great deal of the time was spent in the small living room that served as the center for watching television and playing games. However, the house had a significantly larger family room with a long sofa and two or three recliners. On one side, a gigantic entertainment center resembled a wooden box one would find in an attic. It had a radio and record player accessible only by lifting the lid from the wooden case. Like my parents, Nanny and Papa listened to Country and Rock n Roll with a stronger emphasis on the former genre. While listening to the latter, Nanny danced the Jitterbug and other dances I knew nothing about, especially when it came to the music of Little Richard. But the radio and record player were not the only forms of entertainment in the family room.
A long box-shaped piano stood against a wall near the entrance to the dining room. Made out of solid wood, it had no fancy features or special furnishings. The lid could be removed, but not propped up with a small stand. A wooden panel with hinges covered the ivory keyboard. The end had to be lifted using the small metal knobs, then pushed forward until the knobs met the wooden barrier just beyond the back of the black keys. The piano also had three foot pedals, which I never used, and a special place to put the sheet music. To complete the package, a long rectangular bench was used as a seat. It had a special compartment for storing compositions, score albums, and other music-related material. The tricky part was keeping the lid open while sifting through the contents to find what you were looking for.
I started playing this piano at an early age, back when I was two or three years old. I use the word “play” rather loosely because I spent much of the time banging the keys senselessly. The first tunes that I learned to play weren’t Chopsticks, Twinkle Little Star, or any other traditional first songs. Rather, they were the Christmas songs Silent Night and Jingle Bells, followed by a folk song called Down in the Valley. I learned these songs by reading the books and looking at the keys. Most of the song books had a letter printed above each note while every white and black piano key had a sticker revealing which note it played. In this way, it was significantly easier to play the tunes, though I always did so using only one hand. I tried using both hands but could never master the technique. The same was true regarding the foot pedals. I couldn’t concentrate on the notes and pedals at the same time, so I completely abandoned any notion of trying to learn how to properly use them. And so, I would spend a great deal of time playing the old favorites, learning new songs, and trying to compose my own little tunes.
The entertainment center in the family room was later sold in a garage sale and replaced by an electric organ. From the moment you pressed the power button, the sound of an air conditioner filled the room and remained there until the instrument was turned off. I can’t remember much about the organ except that it was rather small and had lots of small black buttons which I cannot recall using. I don’t why my grandparents got it, for the piano was still the centerpiece of the family room, but I think it had to do with the acquisition of an antique organ which had a new special place at their lake house. It was a large, cumbersome thing with lots of buttons and dials I knew nothing about. And I had no intention of learning how to use them, especially when facing the other two obstacles in playing the machine. The first involved using your knees to press two wooden panels to the side as a requirement of playing the organ. The second requirement involved using your legs to push down a set of large rectangular pedals like a stairmaster or bicycle. Doing both these things at the same time was a complete nightmare, but that did not stop me from trying. Most of the time, it ended up becoming a team effort with my brother as an assistant. We didn’t make much music from our sessions, but that did not stop us from having fun in the attempt.
The piano was not the only instrument available at my grandparents’ house. They also had a yellow-painted, wooden guitar stored in a closet. The sheet music was placed in a clothing drawer along with some worn-out instructional booklets. No matter how hard I tried, I could never master the thing or even come close to playing a single song. Most of the time, I strummed senselessly in the hope that I would somehow stumble across something resembling a tune. The closest I came to accomplishing this objective was imitating the first few bars of the Jaws theme.
Despite all my experience with the piano and my exposure to the guitar and organ, the instrument I chose to master as a child was the baritone. When I was in the third grade, I saw a poster for the school band. I attended the advertised meeting and decided to play the aforementioned instrument for reasons unknown. Maybe it was the fact that the baritone only had three keys to remember. Perhaps I wanted to try something completely different from what I had played before. Regardless of the reason, I stayed with the baritone until the seventh or eighth grade.
The baritone that I first received was a dull gray. It was the type of shade which you would find in an old, neglected kitchen sink. Tarnished with scratches and small dents, the instrument looked like a miniature tuba with three keys instead of four. It was also considerably lighter and could more easily fit on your lap. You placed one hand on the horn to keep it steady and the other over the keys. Although it was easy to remember which valves produced which notes, the baritone was a challenge to play because of the large amount of air needed to keep the sound going. You also had to keep vibrating your lips and control the velocity of your breath. The biggest downside of playing the baritone was the heaviness of the long, bulky case. It weighed a ton, or so it seemed, and could not be easily fitted inside a car.
I think it was during this time that I acquired a love for classical music, probably because I had learned all the intricacies involved just to make a singular sound. I still listened to my parents’ music along with a few modern songs here and there, but I often found myself leaning toward instrumental music. In the latter years of middle school and early years of high school, I was condemned for enjoying classical music. But I stood firm with my musical tastes, knowing that I would be somehow be vindicated and proven right.
I left the baritone in middle school, hoping to pursue other venues of fun and entertainment. I eventually replaced the band with drama productions during the ninth grade, but I never completely abandoned the music field. During my teenage years, I acquired an electronic keyboard. It wasn’t one of the expensive Casio brands selling for thousands of dollars, but one of the general purpose ones that you could buy for fifty bucks. I started with one which had twenty instruments and upgraded to a keyboard featuring over fifty instruments and sounds accompanied by several genre rhythms. Instead of just playing the keyboard, I used it to compose my own music. I produced waltzes, polkas, marches, and concertos. The keys had no stickers showing what notes they played and I had no idea what they played, so I ended up relying on the sound they made and remembering their general location. Instead of writing down the notes, I recorded my sessions on cassette tape to help me remember and serve as an archive in case I forgot how to play them. Most of them were two minutes or less with the longest tune running a length of seven minutes or more. I had quite a collection near the end of my recording frenzy. However, I abandoned the hobby and the tapes eventually disappeared. They could have been thown away or destroyed during a fit of teenage angst or simply misplaced somewhere never to be seen again. Regardless of their fate, I eventually lost interest in composing music and pursued other interests.
After my college years, I entered the workforce and discovered a new way to explore music. I started listening to various songs, thinking of ways to redo them in humorous ways. I thought about certain topics and how to poke fun at them. Before I knew it, I was writing lyrics using sheet music as my guide. I then practiced singing them before recording my voice. I had no way of selling the songs or getting a contract to perform them, but this did not stop me from writing new material. For I often gave away the recordings to family and co-workers. Like my early compositions, I grew tired of the hobby and moved on. The last musical endeavor was a theme song which I produced for a podcast. The tune was an extended variation of the beginning of the Pink Panther theme. The podcast only lasted for a few episodes and I decided to permanently abandon the practice of writing music.
Although I no longer make music, it still plays a part in my life. The relaxing tones of soft musical pieces help to relieve stress, calm the nerves, and aide concentration. It transports me to far away places and brings back pleasant memories. And when I think back to my musical past, what I remember most are the pleasant memories.
Nanny and Papa always invited me in whenever I came knocking on the door, usually the sliding glass door in the back. A great deal of the time was spent in the small living room that served as the center for watching television and playing games. However, the house had a significantly larger family room with a long sofa and two or three recliners. On one side, a gigantic entertainment center resembled a wooden box one would find in an attic. It had a radio and record player accessible only by lifting the lid from the wooden case. Like my parents, Nanny and Papa listened to Country and Rock n Roll with a stronger emphasis on the former genre. While listening to the latter, Nanny danced the Jitterbug and other dances I knew nothing about, especially when it came to the music of Little Richard. But the radio and record player were not the only forms of entertainment in the family room.
A long box-shaped piano stood against a wall near the entrance to the dining room. Made out of solid wood, it had no fancy features or special furnishings. The lid could be removed, but not propped up with a small stand. A wooden panel with hinges covered the ivory keyboard. The end had to be lifted using the small metal knobs, then pushed forward until the knobs met the wooden barrier just beyond the back of the black keys. The piano also had three foot pedals, which I never used, and a special place to put the sheet music. To complete the package, a long rectangular bench was used as a seat. It had a special compartment for storing compositions, score albums, and other music-related material. The tricky part was keeping the lid open while sifting through the contents to find what you were looking for.
I started playing this piano at an early age, back when I was two or three years old. I use the word “play” rather loosely because I spent much of the time banging the keys senselessly. The first tunes that I learned to play weren’t Chopsticks, Twinkle Little Star, or any other traditional first songs. Rather, they were the Christmas songs Silent Night and Jingle Bells, followed by a folk song called Down in the Valley. I learned these songs by reading the books and looking at the keys. Most of the song books had a letter printed above each note while every white and black piano key had a sticker revealing which note it played. In this way, it was significantly easier to play the tunes, though I always did so using only one hand. I tried using both hands but could never master the technique. The same was true regarding the foot pedals. I couldn’t concentrate on the notes and pedals at the same time, so I completely abandoned any notion of trying to learn how to properly use them. And so, I would spend a great deal of time playing the old favorites, learning new songs, and trying to compose my own little tunes.
The entertainment center in the family room was later sold in a garage sale and replaced by an electric organ. From the moment you pressed the power button, the sound of an air conditioner filled the room and remained there until the instrument was turned off. I can’t remember much about the organ except that it was rather small and had lots of small black buttons which I cannot recall using. I don’t why my grandparents got it, for the piano was still the centerpiece of the family room, but I think it had to do with the acquisition of an antique organ which had a new special place at their lake house. It was a large, cumbersome thing with lots of buttons and dials I knew nothing about. And I had no intention of learning how to use them, especially when facing the other two obstacles in playing the machine. The first involved using your knees to press two wooden panels to the side as a requirement of playing the organ. The second requirement involved using your legs to push down a set of large rectangular pedals like a stairmaster or bicycle. Doing both these things at the same time was a complete nightmare, but that did not stop me from trying. Most of the time, it ended up becoming a team effort with my brother as an assistant. We didn’t make much music from our sessions, but that did not stop us from having fun in the attempt.
The piano was not the only instrument available at my grandparents’ house. They also had a yellow-painted, wooden guitar stored in a closet. The sheet music was placed in a clothing drawer along with some worn-out instructional booklets. No matter how hard I tried, I could never master the thing or even come close to playing a single song. Most of the time, I strummed senselessly in the hope that I would somehow stumble across something resembling a tune. The closest I came to accomplishing this objective was imitating the first few bars of the Jaws theme.
Despite all my experience with the piano and my exposure to the guitar and organ, the instrument I chose to master as a child was the baritone. When I was in the third grade, I saw a poster for the school band. I attended the advertised meeting and decided to play the aforementioned instrument for reasons unknown. Maybe it was the fact that the baritone only had three keys to remember. Perhaps I wanted to try something completely different from what I had played before. Regardless of the reason, I stayed with the baritone until the seventh or eighth grade.
The baritone that I first received was a dull gray. It was the type of shade which you would find in an old, neglected kitchen sink. Tarnished with scratches and small dents, the instrument looked like a miniature tuba with three keys instead of four. It was also considerably lighter and could more easily fit on your lap. You placed one hand on the horn to keep it steady and the other over the keys. Although it was easy to remember which valves produced which notes, the baritone was a challenge to play because of the large amount of air needed to keep the sound going. You also had to keep vibrating your lips and control the velocity of your breath. The biggest downside of playing the baritone was the heaviness of the long, bulky case. It weighed a ton, or so it seemed, and could not be easily fitted inside a car.
I think it was during this time that I acquired a love for classical music, probably because I had learned all the intricacies involved just to make a singular sound. I still listened to my parents’ music along with a few modern songs here and there, but I often found myself leaning toward instrumental music. In the latter years of middle school and early years of high school, I was condemned for enjoying classical music. But I stood firm with my musical tastes, knowing that I would be somehow be vindicated and proven right.
I left the baritone in middle school, hoping to pursue other venues of fun and entertainment. I eventually replaced the band with drama productions during the ninth grade, but I never completely abandoned the music field. During my teenage years, I acquired an electronic keyboard. It wasn’t one of the expensive Casio brands selling for thousands of dollars, but one of the general purpose ones that you could buy for fifty bucks. I started with one which had twenty instruments and upgraded to a keyboard featuring over fifty instruments and sounds accompanied by several genre rhythms. Instead of just playing the keyboard, I used it to compose my own music. I produced waltzes, polkas, marches, and concertos. The keys had no stickers showing what notes they played and I had no idea what they played, so I ended up relying on the sound they made and remembering their general location. Instead of writing down the notes, I recorded my sessions on cassette tape to help me remember and serve as an archive in case I forgot how to play them. Most of them were two minutes or less with the longest tune running a length of seven minutes or more. I had quite a collection near the end of my recording frenzy. However, I abandoned the hobby and the tapes eventually disappeared. They could have been thown away or destroyed during a fit of teenage angst or simply misplaced somewhere never to be seen again. Regardless of their fate, I eventually lost interest in composing music and pursued other interests.
After my college years, I entered the workforce and discovered a new way to explore music. I started listening to various songs, thinking of ways to redo them in humorous ways. I thought about certain topics and how to poke fun at them. Before I knew it, I was writing lyrics using sheet music as my guide. I then practiced singing them before recording my voice. I had no way of selling the songs or getting a contract to perform them, but this did not stop me from writing new material. For I often gave away the recordings to family and co-workers. Like my early compositions, I grew tired of the hobby and moved on. The last musical endeavor was a theme song which I produced for a podcast. The tune was an extended variation of the beginning of the Pink Panther theme. The podcast only lasted for a few episodes and I decided to permanently abandon the practice of writing music.
Although I no longer make music, it still plays a part in my life. The relaxing tones of soft musical pieces help to relieve stress, calm the nerves, and aide concentration. It transports me to far away places and brings back pleasant memories. And when I think back to my musical past, what I remember most are the pleasant memories.