Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Hope and Practice

This afternoon, I practiced the piano just in case they make me play on Sunday.  The music is pretty, so no one at home minded too much or, more likely, they were just too kind not to complain about the multitude of mistakes.  I had to dig the piano out from under dreck that got put on or near it over the years.  There was a cardboard box, some regifts, and nearly a dozen pictures of Nick.  I hate having anything on my piano.  I hate it.  Just ask Mike. 

Here's the status.  I can now play the piece through at sub-dirge speed.  That means that everyone singing will sound like the music playing on the movie, 'Apollo 13,' when the battery was dying in the astronauts' tape player in space.  Do you remember that scene?  How many of you get annoyed that these guys wouldn't have tolerated that dreary sound any better than we did?  They would have dashed that thing against a control panel to shut it up.  Just saying.

The question about Sunday is whether or not I can bring these notes close to speed by then, and if I have the wherewithal to play it in sync with the choir.  Yes, there is still the choir with which I must engage.  That is a huge question.  Huge.

When I tell you that I haven't played the piano much for the past twenty years, you may begin to understand my dilemma.  Twenty years.  I can still play a few things that I played proficiently back then, but they're mostly sad and don't end well.  A couple of years ago, I dusted off my most challenging achievement, Debussy's First Arabesque.  Yes, I could still play that if I needed to.  I wish I were playing it for Sunday.  I could do that.

I don't want to play at church.  I don't want to play at church.  I don't want to play at church.  Pray for me, honey, I play like shit.  I am stealing a line from Mike's grandma who once said to me, "Pray for me, honey.  I feel like shit."  That made me love her all the more and her soul is with me whenever I feel like shit.

So the other part of my problem for Sunday is that, with the exception of the garage band I played with for a year and a half when I was twenty-six years old, I have never been an accompanist.  Remember that I told you that we were really bad?  Remember that?

I'm getting nervous just sitting here.

There is still hope they will find someone else to play, dim, dim hope.

Thank you for listening, jb

No comments:

Post a Comment