We’re having the windows of the piano room double glazed this week. For safety, the piano has been closed up, wrapped in blankets and swathed in plastic sheeting. To give the workmen more space to bring things in and out of the door (perilously near the end of the piano) the piano has been pushed up against the far wall. There it will stay for several days. It looks sad and mute, silent under its thick coverings.
It’s the first time in ages that the piano hasn’t been accessible to me in the house, and it feels strange. During the day I’m accustomed to popping in to the music room to play whenever I feel like doing so, which turns out to be relatively often, because now I’m really conscious of the fact that I can’t do so.
I suppose I have been in the habit of using the piano to punctuate the day. Never a manic practiser who was able to sit at the instrument for hours, I find it works better to do short bursts of playing and alternate them with other activities. In recent years I’ve been dealing with lower back pain when I sit for too long in the same position, so that’s another reason to keep standing up from the piano and doing something else. It also gives me a chance to digest what I’ve just been playing.
As Liszt was alleged to have said, ‘Think nine times and play once’.
Well, perhaps he didn’t actually say it – I haven’t been able to track down the reference – but as Katie Johnson says to Alec Guinness in the 1955 film The Ladykillers, ‘It’s such a charming thought; I do hope somebody expressed it!’
Alexander lessons? Tai Chi walking? Sitting on an orthpoedic seat wedge? But of course you know all these things…
Special seat cushions, yes – I have those and they’re helpful, thanks Rob. Exploring other therapies as well.
I hope they get the work done on time, Susan!
There is a trend among music writers today to cast doubt on the best quotes and stories just because they are so good! The phrase “if it really did happen” is thrown in almost as a badge of honour, even though there appears to be no evidence that it didn’t. But then truth is often stranger than fiction…
I guess that in the course of writing books, I have been exhorted time and time again to check my sources, give references and admit it if I can’t verify a historical story. I agree it can be annoying to see the disclaimers you mention. In the case of the Liszt story, I can totally imagine him saying it, and maybe he did, but I wish I could find confirmation of it.
I think the most likely answer is that he said it in one of his Weimar masterclasses, then it was passed on down the generations from there. As Gilbert’s Lord Chancellor says, “You can’t tell me what they told you, it’s not evidence!”, but I do think the modern obsession with verification has gone too far. Just because something doesn’t leave written proof doesn’t mean it’s dodgy. I remember writing a letter to The Times with three quotes, and I was asked for sources for all of them! Fortunately I could provide this (although it took a while), and the letter was published. But unless a quote is from a living person and potentially sensitive I do think this rigid principle unhelpfully limits what can appear in print. In my commonplace book I always note the source, just to be on the safe side…
And will your neighbours be pleased by the windows’ increased sound insulation, or disappointed that they are less well able to hear your beautiful playing?
Possibly a mix?