Goosemaster
Lifer
I lie.
I tell people that I cannot do this or that, that when I finally laid my eyes on the very piece that I felt I was destined to play, I could not play it, and that I would never be able to.
That's me and music
I truly get enveloped in the music. When I saw that piece (sibelius - violin concerto in D ) and tried to play it as best I could, all I could hear , besides the squeaking o my violin and I struggled with the chords, was Jascha Heifetz's rendition reverberating in my head. It was such a picturesque recording, such a sonic marvel, that when I played the first few bars and heard how bad I sounded, I told myself that I could not disgrace this piece again
As I kid, I used to play my violin for hours everyday.
I remember many times ever week, coming home, playing until I was dripping with sweat, my arms ready to fall off, and falling asleep with my violin in my arms.
That's me and music.
I remember that I had never had a violin of my own because I could not afford one until one was donated to me in 7th grade. I remember the joy of that day. I remember that violin.
Oh that violin.
It was a ragged and ravaged old thing from about 1915, but it was perfection. Everyone who held it always commented on its lackluster appearance, but felt weird when they held it in their arms. It was so light yet so stiff. Mostly, what caught their senses by surprise was the thumb grove. It was such an old instrument, such a veteran, that it had about a 1/4 inch grove where one's thumb would rest.
It had been played that much.
It sounded beautiful. I swear, I was in the clouds when I played it. Perhaps it was the countless hours of playing it at home that earned me second chair in the orchestra for so many years, but I truly felt that it was responsible. When I played it, everyone listened. It was if it held some sort of secret inside that made everything sound perfect.
I used to make people cry when I played it. Tears of joy of course😀
The day it broke nearly broke my heart.
The day my mom gave it away, without asking me, in exchange for a new one at a shop, finished the job.
She didn?t understand, and I don?t blame her, but that day I had felt as if a part of me had been ripped off, as if I was laying there, bleeding, and everyone around was colorblind and blind to my pain.
That's me and music.
I was at a loss for words. Tears weren?t even working that day, and I just remember feeling so very low, so alone, so silent without my muse.
I had slept with it, I had played in front of family in friends with it, I had helped form a church band with it. I had been at the forefront of my orchestra with it. I had won 1st place in everything with my orchestra and it.
And it was gone.
Sure I had a new violin, some 1950s thingy that sounded okay, but that is how music affected my life. Once I had lost my muse, it never felt the same again, I always felt weak and incapable.
It made me into someone who became one with his block of wood. Sure, I was never great, but finally, when I put down my violin with that Sibelius music staring back at me, I knew that, had I had my muse, I would have conquered it.
I still have my 1950s violin and try to play it sometimes, but it feels so pointless.
Sure there?s more to this story, and I eventually tried out the saxophone to try to supplant what I felt was missing. That said however, I can?t help but feel that I will never be as great as I used to be with my violin, even though I tell myself that I was never great.
That's me and the music I made.
I tell people that I cannot do this or that, that when I finally laid my eyes on the very piece that I felt I was destined to play, I could not play it, and that I would never be able to.
That's me and music
I truly get enveloped in the music. When I saw that piece (sibelius - violin concerto in D ) and tried to play it as best I could, all I could hear , besides the squeaking o my violin and I struggled with the chords, was Jascha Heifetz's rendition reverberating in my head. It was such a picturesque recording, such a sonic marvel, that when I played the first few bars and heard how bad I sounded, I told myself that I could not disgrace this piece again
As I kid, I used to play my violin for hours everyday.
I remember many times ever week, coming home, playing until I was dripping with sweat, my arms ready to fall off, and falling asleep with my violin in my arms.
That's me and music.
I remember that I had never had a violin of my own because I could not afford one until one was donated to me in 7th grade. I remember the joy of that day. I remember that violin.
Oh that violin.
It was a ragged and ravaged old thing from about 1915, but it was perfection. Everyone who held it always commented on its lackluster appearance, but felt weird when they held it in their arms. It was so light yet so stiff. Mostly, what caught their senses by surprise was the thumb grove. It was such an old instrument, such a veteran, that it had about a 1/4 inch grove where one's thumb would rest.
It had been played that much.
It sounded beautiful. I swear, I was in the clouds when I played it. Perhaps it was the countless hours of playing it at home that earned me second chair in the orchestra for so many years, but I truly felt that it was responsible. When I played it, everyone listened. It was if it held some sort of secret inside that made everything sound perfect.
I used to make people cry when I played it. Tears of joy of course😀
The day it broke nearly broke my heart.
The day my mom gave it away, without asking me, in exchange for a new one at a shop, finished the job.
She didn?t understand, and I don?t blame her, but that day I had felt as if a part of me had been ripped off, as if I was laying there, bleeding, and everyone around was colorblind and blind to my pain.
That's me and music.
I was at a loss for words. Tears weren?t even working that day, and I just remember feeling so very low, so alone, so silent without my muse.
I had slept with it, I had played in front of family in friends with it, I had helped form a church band with it. I had been at the forefront of my orchestra with it. I had won 1st place in everything with my orchestra and it.
And it was gone.
Sure I had a new violin, some 1950s thingy that sounded okay, but that is how music affected my life. Once I had lost my muse, it never felt the same again, I always felt weak and incapable.
It made me into someone who became one with his block of wood. Sure, I was never great, but finally, when I put down my violin with that Sibelius music staring back at me, I knew that, had I had my muse, I would have conquered it.
I still have my 1950s violin and try to play it sometimes, but it feels so pointless.
Sure there?s more to this story, and I eventually tried out the saxophone to try to supplant what I felt was missing. That said however, I can?t help but feel that I will never be as great as I used to be with my violin, even though I tell myself that I was never great.
That's me and the music I made.
