I want to learn to play lots of instruments. I already have a few under my belt - saxophone, piano, guitar, bass guitar, harmonica, and now I'm learning clarinet. Well, I should say that I know how to play them - I should say that I'm still studying them. I have a really long way to go before I can say I've mastered any one of them.
But I want to talk about piano. I love piano. I love all forms of piano, like saloon style or ragtime, or modern jazz or baroque. I started piano a couple years ago, under the instruction of a man who I knew only as Joel. He was about seventy years old, and he drove around in an old Camaro with his dog, smoking cigarettes and wearing faded blue jeans. He inspired me. Joel was a good teacher, and very disciplined. If he knew I could do something, he wouldn't stop teaching until I had done it. In short, Joel believed in me. He made he love piano, unlike some piano teachers, who just pound classical music and training till the cows come home. He showed me jazz piano, but he always made sure to ground me in classical music as well. In this way, I grew to love and appreciate classical music rather despise. Later, I found that Joel was a child prodigy - he had already played Carnegie Hall at age nine. He played and lived in New York City - he even met and studied with Dave Brubeck and Oscar Peterson. And then, after two or three years under Joel's instruction, he had to leave. Life is so fragile, so delicate. Sometimes I scorn the way that life has in-confidence, the way that it is afraid that it will crumple under the pressure of happiness and enlightenment. Ponder,
