Here's an excerpt from a musical paper, for a non-musical class:
Music is intricately woven into the fabric of my existence. I sang before I could speak, I read music before I could read words, and I have played classical piano for as long as I can remember. Though I no longer attempt to tackle classical sonatas, I have played the instrument for so long that it has become an extension of my being.
It is difficult to find a word that adequately describes my relationship with music. I often used to say that music was my first lover. Later, I felt like it was my child. After pouring the crux of my soul into the melodies, harmonies, theoretical structure of a symphony, it is difficult to consider the fruit of your labor as anything else. Sometimes, the dulcet tones of a piano nocturne are comforting and supportive like my mother. Other times-- like a father-- the regimented marches are a source of discipline and strength. This fairly complex relationship with music has essentially deafened my ears to genres. There are only two types of music: good and bad. The only way to tell the difference is to listen.Speaking of good music..
I'm listening to "Who Killed Amanda Palmer" and its a promising record, her piano playing has become more and more intricate with each CD. The tracks are slower, richer, and still irresistibly charming. Perhaps, I will find inspiration somewhere between her quirky squeaks and epic piano playing. If not, I know I'll enjoy the ride.
(That's what she said.)
