Musical investigations

Wow, it's been a while. And in all of that while, nothing really interesting happened, which is probably why I haven't felt like writing a blog post. That is to say, lots of things happened, but they were mostly along the lines of work, meeting with friends, watching movies, etc etc. And I've been reading the same novel (Anna Karenina) for at least two months, so not much to say about that either.
But! There are developments on the musical side of things. Some time ago I wrote about discovering Spotify, and coming to the conclusion that I treated it pretty much the same as any other technology; stick to what you know. But things, they are achanging.
First of all, some big company decided that they would share all The Beatles songs with the rest of the world anyway, which was pretty nice. But more importantly, I've been looking up new music myself. Not really 'by myself' as such, but I've been getting recommendations from others, or hearing songs on commercials, or on the radio (and checking which song they are by using the nifty app SoundHound) and I've added those to my music. And then (this is the magical part) I go to that artist's page, and listen to their other music. Not all of it, of course, but the top 10 songs at least.
Which has led me to discover the following artists:

Ludovico Einaudi: man, he is brilliant. I know nothing about this man, apart from the fact that his song Life was used in a commercial. So I checked him out, and found a treasure trove of beautiful instrumental music, most of it just a piano. My absolute favourite is Nuvole Bianchi, which has almost 40 million listens on Spotify, and is hauntingly beautiful. I'm still trying to find the sheet music, to be able to play it.

John Mayer: I thought this was some guy from the 60s, but apparently he's quite a bit more recent. I heard Heartbreak Warfare on the radio, which I loved, and then I checked out some of his other songs, which were really nice as well. Mellow, but not sleepily so. He can get a bit whiny, but then we skip to:

Modest Mouse: can you believe this band name? Too cute! Anyway, someone recommended Dashboard (which has a very funny video clip too), and then I looked some more on their page, and found out they're the guys from Float On, which was also used in a commercial (sad, how many songs I know mostly from tv ads).

Muse: I've had lots of friends who were into Muse, but somehow I'd never really listened to any songs. Now that I have, I find them a bit too aggressive for what I would normally listen to, but there are times when I like that uptempo shouty stuff, for example when I try to hammer out some minutes for meetings.

I could go on and on (The National, Wolf People, The Raconteurs), but most of them are kind of the same music as I've always loved (Ludovico Eunaudi is like Howard Shore and Philip Glass, and all the other guys are your regular middle of the road band, leaning slightly towards the countryesque). So technically, I haven't really evolved that much, especially when you compare it to the friend who has suddenly decided she's into 'gangster rap'. But still, small steps towards more musical open mindedness.

The Art of Asking

So one of the books I've finished so far this year is The Art of Asking, by Amanda Palmer. I thought this book was going to be about how Amanda thought she had to be a Strong and Independent Person/Woman and then saw the light and realised that sometimes, it isn't so bad to ask anyone for help, and now she will tell the reader the how and why of things. As it turned out, she realised this in the first 10 pages of the book, and the rest of it was mostly about her dating Neil Gaiman, her breaking up with her record label and discovering crowd funding, and her sleeping on other people's couches while blogging and tweeting and generally sharing every detail of her private life with the whole world. But luckily, in between all that, there were some gems of wisdom and writing.
So who is this Amanda Palmer? I only recently found out that she, and her former band The Dresden Dolls, are not as famous as I'd always thought, so a short recap may be in order. Amanda Palmer is a singer, songwriter, feminist, and the wife of Neil Gaiman. Which is how I first heard of her, because I've been following Neil on his blog for a couple of years now, and at some point, Amanda popped up (they've been married for a while now, and they recently had their first child). I didn't really check her out at that point, but then one of my best friends mentioned that he loves The Dresden Dolls, so I decided to listen to some of their music, and some of their music is really nice. For the most part, it's a bit too loud/shouty/in-your-face for my taste, but a noticeable exception to this rule is Delilah, which is by far my favourite song. Since then, Amanda has gone solo, and released a couple of albums, one of which contains her playing Radiohead songs on her ukulele.
Anyway, Neil had mentioned Amanda's book on his blog, and when I saw it laying around at the house of the aforementioned friend (in Iceland, which meant he had found it worthwhile to drag the thing 3000 km across the sea) I decided I had to read it. So I did. And I was a bit disappointed, as you may have gathered from the first paragraph, because it was all about Amanda Palmer. Amanda Palmer likes talking/writing/blogging/singing/apping about herself a lot. She also doesn't really like any kind of formal structure, so the book is really all over the place, with long and short bits mixed up and jumping in time and adding new people until you get completely confused. But then there are some bits that do make sense, in a novel-writing kind of way, and she mentions that Neil helped her along, so you can see his influence there, I guess. Also, it does tie up nicely in the end, with a sort of happy ending.
But in between all the rambling and the endless descriptions of tours and couches and tour buses, there are some really nice bits. Amanda mentions The Fraud Police, who will at some point come knocking at your door and tell you that it's all been fun and games, but now you really have to stop pretending you can write/sing/make any difference in the world. It's that secret feeling we all have, of being 'found out' some day, of being discovered as a fraud and then cast aside by everybody. The way she described this, felt really real to me. This is about not trusting yourself, or trusting your own talent. Then there is the bit about trusting others, and you don't have to stand on a pedestal as a living statue, or sleep on other people's couches, to experience that other people are, in general, trustworthy. But it's good to realise that sometimes, and the examples she gives are all true and honest and worthwhile. Finally, the theme of the title, asking for help, is connected with both trusting yourself and trusting others. For example, she's had a really hard time accepting money from Neil when she was in a tight spot, because she felt that she had to be able to be independent. Although she asked random people for all kinds of help, asking the ones you love, the ones whose opinion really matters, is the most difficult. And during these parts, I really loved her, and the book, and the message she was carrying out.
But then there were two afterwords by people saying 'you may not believe this, but this is really the way Amanda is! She's not faking it! Believe me, everything in this book, it's very very true!'. Which spoiled the whole thing, because up until that point, I'd never had any doubt that this all was true. But by pointing it out, by having other famous people write an afterword in which they state that the true things you have just read are really true, you're kind of defeating your own point. Because why couldn't we just trust you on that, Amanda?

Disney to the rescue

In writing tutorials, I've been told again and again; write what you know. It's easier to shape a character that has the same personality traits as yourself, or lives in the same town, or has the same experiences. Look at any writer; many elements in their novels will be in some way or another autobiographical. The familiarity of these settings and experiences makes it easier to process your thoughts into written words.
I've discovered that the same is true for playing the piano.
With my move, my (digital) piano has found a place in the middle of the living room, which means I literally and figuratively cannot really get around it anymore. Which also means I've been playing more than ever, shaping the familiar tunes from more than 10 years ago until they sound like they're supposed to again. But I've also been a bit stuck, with no new pieces to play. I can try and dedicate myself to those pieces from my original books that I didn't really like to begin with, but I'm afraid my motivation will drop below zero when I start to struggle with stuff I don't even think sounds nice.
Cue Walt Disney. Or to be more precise: The New Illustrated Treasury of Disney Songs. For piano, of course. A fellow piano player lend this to me over Christmas, because nothing gives you the proper Christmassy feel like a long-remembered Disney song, and as soon as I'd played a couple of songs I decided I had to hold on to this book for as long as I could. Because when you know what something has to sound like, when you're familiar with the melody and the timings and the lyrics, it's so much easier to play.
I started off just playing the melody, which is right-hand only, and only 1 note at a time. This is pretty easy, and you do recognise the song, but doesn't really give you the feeling you're actually playing the piano. It's like the Christmas songs I used to play on my recorder (that's 'blokfluit' for you Dutchies); officially it's 'music', but it feels like it's neither here nor there. So I put myself to playing the whole right-hand part, which contains those single notes from the melody line, but adds extra notes. This started to sound a lot better, but some notes were really dissonant, and felt wrong. So I tried to add the left-hand part, which is always the difficult bit, and by playing really slowly I've managed to get two songs (Part Of Your World from The Little Mermaid and A Whole New World from Aladdin) to pretty decent quality. These are both films I watched to death when I was a kid, so I know every little thing about them (albeit in Dutch; the English lyrics are so much better, and more logical, than the translated Dutch version), so I know when I'm playing things right. Which makes it so much easier to get to grips with a new song, but also; it makes playing fun again. Which is what it's supposed to be.
With these two songs under my belt, I'm looking for the next contender to start practising: probably something from The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, or The Hunchback of Notre Dame (all 'Disney Renaissance' films, which qualifies me as a proper nineties kid). These are a bit more difficult (I'm really amazed at the depth of these songs; Disney does take children seriously, in the musical sense at least), and will probably be a bit of a challenge, but as they bring back the fun in playing the piano, I really can't wait.

Spotify

I am usually not one of those ‘early adopters’, who jump onto a technological bandwagon just as it’s taking off. I didn’t get a smartphone until most people around me were already on their second or third. When everybody was starting to get into digital photography, I got another analogue camera. And I still like to write most things by hand, instead of using my phone, computer or tablet.

So it may not come as a surprise that I didn’t discover Spotify until February this year, when enough people had bugged me about it (and enough colleagues were happily immersed in their music while working). Until then, I’d been adding specific music files to my smartphone, and playing that selection randomly through the general Samsung music app. But with Spotify, the possibilities were endless!

It reminded me of using Rhythmbox (for Linux) on my computer; all the music I could ever need, neatly organized by artist or album, or just one long list I could put on shuffle. Only without the fuss of having to tag the songs properly (yes, I am one of those neat freaks who has to remove the masses of underscores or “XOXO from Juan in Brazil” comments, and put in the right numbers, titles and genres, including proper capitalization). Not all the music I want is on there (no The Beatles, for example), but then again I couldn’t (illegally) download all the music I wanted to, so no big difference there.

So I’ve added all my regular artists, who I’ve listened to and loved for many years now, including Counting Crows, Goo Goo Dolls, Train, Alanis Morissette, and some other nice 90s flashbacks such as Lifehouse, Krezip, Robbie Williams and Blink 182. To which I added some film soundtracks (Amelie, 500 Days of Summer) and some separate numbers that I cherish (Solisbury Hill by Peter Gabriel, for example). And that was mostly that. Apart from leeching on those more musically knowledgeable friends who actually put together playlists, that is. And stealing lone numbers from those playlists, and adding those to my growing collection of songs to be played in shuffle mode.

But the whole idea of Spotify, or that’s how it was sold to me, is that you discover new music. Whenever you click on an artist, Spotify tells you about similar artists, who make similar music. Which is how you discover new bands you like, and new songs, and broaden your musical horizon.

Only it doesn’t really work that way for me. One reason, probably, is that I have absolutely no memory for song or band names. There are very few songs I can name from memory, and even with most Counting Crows songs I have to wait for the chorus to start before I’m completely sure what the title is, even though I’ve probably heard that song about 200 times. I can’t recognize most artists, and often have to use the music recognition app on my phone to be sure who’s playing on the radio. When people mention songs or artists to me, or I hear a song on the radio and like it, I won’t remember any of that. So when Spotify tells me that Counting Crows are very similar to The Wallflowers, I won’t remember that band name in a couple of minutes, or recognize them as the group that has a song that I actually really like. Somehow this capability for musical knowledge must have skipped a generation, because my dad is actually very good with music.

Another thing, having all those other artists recommended to me makes me feel like my very special and unique taste in music, carefully developed and maintained, isn’t really that special or original at all, because there are many other bands out there who do exactly the same thing, and if I’d stumbled upon them first, they’d be on my most-played list. And while I know that there is nothing original or special about my taste in music, I still like to live in that illusion.

And finally, of course, the familiar things are the easiest. The songs that you’ve known for years, the memories attached to those songs, the lyrics you can sing (mime, while at work) along with word-for-word; that feels more comfortable than searching and trying and rejecting.

So apparently, when it comes to music, it’s the same for me as with technology. I like the comfortable, familiar things, and won’t go out on a limb to get the newest or hippest thing first. I don’t mind that I don’t know about the hottest song of the moment, or discover that up-and-coming artist before any of my friends. When something new comes along, I will try it tentatively, and when it feels right and fits into my routines, I will gradually add it to my routine. The same way Spotify found its way into my life, some of the new songs and artists will also gradually find a place on my shuffle list. And by the time I’m fully adapted and in tune, there will be another new hip way to listen to music, and I’ll find my way there in due time…

Piano update

So a while back I posted about my piano revival; after 10 years of not playing, mainly due to lack of an actual piano, I decided to buy a digital piano and start to play again. My idea was to play as often as possible, but at least either a) 3 hours a week or b) 10 minutes after dinner every day. Unsurprisingly, this did not happen.
With our living room stuffed full of books as it is, the piano is hidden away in a room upstairs, a room that generally does not have the heating on. So if I want to play for more than 5 minutes and/or without freezing hands, I have to turn the heating on at least half an hour in advance. This kind of planning is not something my rare impromptu moments of playing are very well adapted to. Added to that, the piano is living up to its cheap nature; some of the keys make this awful 'woink' sound when you release them, so playing without headphones on is no fun, and playing with headphones one is also no fun because you want to hear the sound reverberate in the air. Also, it really does take a lot of energy, and an hour of playing still leaves me quite drained, both physically and mentally. But all that are just excuses for not playing as much as I actually could, or want to.
Because I still really love to play. I've been working through my old books chronologically, and am now in a position that I can actually play some of the more difficult and longer pieces in one go on the first retry. Some of my old favourites are completely back up to scratch and I use those as a reward when I get stuck in one of the more difficult ones. However, because I play so irregularly, my fingers still really really hurt when I try to do the more difficult things that involve lots of fast or repetitious moves. So after an hour, I do have to call it quits, even though I may just be warming up into something difficult. And then it may be more than a week before I find (or rather: make) time to play again.
I measure my progress against my ability to play Comptine d'un Autre Ete, which was the reason I originally started playing again. I would have thought I would be halfway decent on that song by now, given that I try to play it every time. But there is no way I will be playing it in its entirety for the next half year or so; today I finally managed to play the first eight bars correctly, without mistakes, and in the slowest speed ever.
The thing may be that on some of the older songs, my fingers still somehow 'remember'  the moves, especially the difficult ones because I practised them so often. And with this new song, I have to learn all these tricks all over again, its not a question of repeating what I already could do once. So my progress is nowhere near as fast as I'd hoped, and that can be a bit hard, but I'm still hanging in there. Working towards this goal is a good thing, even though it is taking me really long and it is sometimes hard to stay motivated.
But I've promised myself that when I can actually play it, and still like playing, I may reward myself with a better (digital) piano. And maybe even lessons. Which I shouldn't have quit in the first place, but that decision is 10 years in the past, so best to focus on what I can still salvage today!

Piano revival

I've been meaning to start playing the piano again (I've had lessons for four years and played a while after that, but it stopped as soon as I went to university) for more than a year now, ever since we moved into this big(ger) house. Somehow, I never really got round to it, until a couple of months ago I heard someone play the Amelie song Comptine d'un Autre Ete in public, and I decided I really wanted to play that song. Which meant getting a piano, and learning to play again.
I went for a digital piano*, as you can plug in headphones and play all hours of the day without disturbing other people with your awful hammering. Also, it never goes out of tune, which is nice. After a short online investigation into the really beautiful but very expensive big brands, I eventually bought a Casio CDP-100, because apparently it's the cheapest piano that still has a reasonably okay sound and touch sensitivity. I bought one second-hand via the Internet, and it has been sitting in one of our upstairs rooms for a week now, because I didn't have my sheet music and after 10 years cannot play any song from scratch apart from 'Twinkle twinkle little star'  and that gets boring after a while.
But last Wednesday my parents came to visit and brought with them a towering stack of piano books; who knew I had so many? Easy songs and classical songs and jazzy songs and very recent pop music songs all combined into my history of piano lessons. I used to love all the country tunes and melodic musical wanderings before I turned to more recent and less classical stuff. Looking back, I think this was the sign that I wasn't really interested in the whole piano thing anymore, but right now I can't wait to get back into all those classic classical pieces.
So today was the first time I tried some of the old songs again. And it went surprisingly well! I could play each and every song of my first 'real' music book without problem, and even in the proper time. Now these are songs where you don't really have to move your hands about, and all the notes have the correct finger position above them, but still, it surprised me. Then I tried some more difficult things, a menuet by Mozart that I'd played at a recital, and that one went quite okay too, a bit slower and hesitant, but still pretty nice. With some of the moves, it was like my fingers still remembered the things they used to do, and just went along in a stream of memory movements.
After a while, my arms and especially my fingers became pretty tired (strangely enough the thumbs seem to go first, probably because you don't really move them when you're typing, which is the only similar movement they've been getting for 10 years), so I decided to call it a day. But still, a whole hour of reviving old songs and playing pretty decently, I'm positively surprised at how well I am actually still playing. And as they say, practise makes perfect, and I have a whole weekend of practising ahead of me!

* I've been getting some questions as to why I call it a 'digital piano' and not a 'keyboard':  because the two are completely different things. A digital piano is basically a piano that produces sound digitally, meaning you can stick in some headphones and not bother anyone with your music. But it does have 88 keys, which are pressure sensitive and weighed, so it takes the same effort and effect as playing a real piano. Keyboards have fewer keys, which usually aren't pressure sensitive and take very little effort to press down. It's a bit like the difference between a type writer and a computer key board. And as I plan to buy a real piano sometime in the future, I felt it was better to buy a proper (and more expensive) digital piano than they keyboard substitute.