I must say in all honesty that I never expected to fall in love at first sight. For as long as I can remember, I've never been a silly girl, or a romantic one for that matter, but sure enough, I found myself completely and totally devoted. Not to a person, mind you, but it was love all the same. Eighty-eight smooth, polished keys in a classy black and white colour. It reminded me a leering face that was so unassuming and mysterious, yet so inviting. I was held in a trance hearing the chords and notes that it was capable of creating, complicated patterns that required so much grace and skill that I couldn't bear not learning how to play it as well.
Yes, I think it's quite safe to say that my first love was the piano. I have had a few relationships, but none have been held as close to my heart as music. Music sets no standards for who can enjoy it. Black, white, Christian, Jew. Everyone is embraced by its hold, everyone can be a part of it. Music is everywhere. No one can escape it, whether they are conscious of it or not. Footsteps, laughter, talking. These can all be considered music, if one learns to appreciate them.
There is an abundance of music in the world, but it's taken for granted by so many people. They don't realize that one day, the music may stop. In some ways, it already has. Like when people feel that they're better than another person simply because of the colour of their skin. Or when someone takes another human being's life. Simple discrimination and bigotry are signs that the music is starting to fade already. But then there are things so wonderful and precious that you can almost hear the melody rising in a powerful crescendo above the discord.
Nothing is higher in my life than my music, with the sole exception of my family. But that's a different part of my story. Music is my life. It's my one passion. I've been playing the piano since I was in the orphanage years back.. an older boy gave me lessons in exchange for me doing his chores. The extra work was well worth the outcome. I was quite the avid pupil, and caught on to the technique and skill required to become a pianist. My mother grew up in a family of musicians, so the concept of music theory came to me naturally. I was introduced to the classical piano pieces during my tutelage, but my real love and desire to excel came when I first heard the music of Scott Joplin.
It was at the piano in the orphanage. My friend, Marcellus, had conceded to play for me after nearly half an hour of begging on my behalf. He sat down at the piano elegantly, letting his slim fingers brush down the length of the keyboard with a movement that could easily be called reverence. Without so much as a sheet of music in front of him, he began to play. His fingers danced across the keys effortlessly, producing clusters of syncopated chords and thumping octaves. The piece he played was a robust composition, vigorous music that roused the senses and never stood still for a moment. I was absolutely intoxicated.
It was at that moment that I decided that while the classical piano compositions were beautiful, ragtime was my calling. My ambition. I put away the Rachmoninov, the Beethoven, the Mozart, and exchanged it for the great Scott Joplin and Jelly Roll Morton. I spent every free moment I had at the bench of the piano, stubbornly fighting my way through the alien key signatures until I could have played them in my sleep. After countless hours of practicing, days upon weeks upon months, I surpassed my companion and teacher in levels of playing. Soon after, I moved out of the orphanage to find my own wings. Between looking for a lodging of sorts and trying to survive on my own, I spent quite a bit of my time as a transient, wandering the various musical clubs. During this time, I expanded more than I could ever hope for as a musician, playing alongside of some of the most renowned players in the city as a sort of apprentice. I was doing something that I truly loved, and couldn't have been happier.
And so began a lifelong relationship.
The Green Light was a dusky, smoke-filled ragtime club in Harlem, full to the brim with all types of music enthusiasts and performers. It was impossible to find a moment of quiet in the crowded hall. A beautiful grand piano stood proudly on a platform in the midst of the tables, resplendantly black admist the overall brownness of the room. A small cluster of women half-circled the piano, shouting racuous encouragements to a dancing couple moving in time with the jaunty gait of the piano music.
At the piano sat a young man, derby tilted daringly on his head as his fingers mercilessly pounded the ivory and ebony keys. He cast a flirtatious wink to one of the young women, who blushed and swished her skirts to flash her ankle to him. The man's fingers raced each other towards the bass end of the keyboard before striking a quick chord and rising to his feet. The room erupted into a round of calls no place other than a music club could house, and he jumped down from the platform with a quirky bow before sweeping his arm around the girl and whisking her away towards the bar.
A quiet, regally exotic looking young lady stepped up onto the platform with hoisted skirts, taking a graceful seat at the piano bench. She removed the young man's music and stretched her long fingers quietly before laying them reverantly against the polished keys. A drunken man sent a wild catcall at the girl, bringing on a fierce blush which he and his companions found hysterical. Then she began to play.
The music which flooded from her fingers filled the room with a tense electricity. From the looks of her, a person would expect a haunting piano sonata, not the vibrant, soulful ragtime that came out of her thin frame like a lighthouse. Her eyes were closed; she had no music from which to guide her in the art, just memory and a great love of the style.
It was quite a while before she finished. By that time, the audience was too moved to applaud this silent, amazing young woman and her piano.
Stay tuned! More to come!
