For the first time since my senior year of high school, I have a mandated nightly piano practice time. The next seven days, my focus is on three stupid measures of a Brahms piece written in E major (That’s 4 sharps. I can usually play 3 fine, 5 okay, but 4? My brain shuts down.).
I’m a second set of hands at a choir concert next week for the Brahms, and for selected movements from Carmina Burana (that one’s in F. One flat. Totally doable).
But that’s not all, folks.
A former student is back in town after college and a little bit of life lived, and wants to perform again, so every Sunday at 2:30, we meet up. He hands me music that I pretend to sight read while he sings beautifully.
Then during the week, I practice what he gave me the week prior.
(You think my brain struggles with 4 sharps? You should see what happened when he handed me a song written in C# major. That’s seven. SEVEN SHARPS. WHO DOES THAT?)
I’m loving it.
I remember decades ago when I thought I wanted to be a concert pianist, but the secret no one told me then is that being an accompanist is so much more fun. It’s slightly less stressful, yet I still get to perform, and my job is to be invisible.
It’s been fun to have a regular practice schedule again, and I’m a little more determined to maintain it after these “assigned” projects go away.