Make It Interesting

My mother and father were both professional musicians.  My mother played the trumpet, my father the French horn. They met in a student orchestra during the 1930s.  No wonder my dad insisted that I take piano lessons at an early age. But he also advised me to not become a professional musician.  More than once he said, “It’s a lousy way to earn a living.”

There were two pianos in the small living room of my childhood home.  I still remember sitting at one of the pianos practicing when my father, who taught French horn students in the same room, demanded from over my shoulder, “Make it interesting.  Each phrase must be interesting.”

I was still struggling to hit the right notes. Though I knew the difference between pianissimo (very soft) and forte (loud), phrasing was not yet part of my repertoire.  But Dad, as always, persisted.  And it turned out he was right.  He was a great teacher, though somewhat gruff in those days.

“Don’t rush to get to the good parts,” he directed.  “Remember that the notes become a phrase, like a breath, and each phrase must be colorful and interesting.”

When I was in college, headed toward a degree in accounting, I asked my dad, “Do you think I had enough talent to be a concert pianist?”

He thought about it briefly.

“Yes,” he said.  “Definitely.  But you would have had to practice constantly, be on the road half the year, and accept a lower standard of living.  It’s a lousy way to earn a living.”  My dad often repeated himself.

What he didn’t mention was that he knew how much I hated to practice.  With rare exception, I found even the obligatory hour a day unpleasant.  Once I recorded half an hour of myself practicing the piano on my Dad’s new tape recorder.  Then, thinking I could fool him, I played the tape instead of practicing.

On the second day Dad burst into the living room from his bedroom.

“You’re not practicing.  That’s a recording.  I hear exactly the same mistakes over and over.”  So much for that ploy!

In writing I have one essential rule – make it Interesting.  When I read a book, or even a news story, it has to hold my interest.  If not, I skip to something else.  In that respect writing is similar to performing music, every phrase must count.

But ultimately, my Dad was right.  I wasn’t suited to being a professional musician. For years I’ve stared at the two Steinway pianos in my own home, and yet, during the past twenty years, I haven’t played a note.

Alan