Sex, drugs and beginner piano lessons: An old dog learns a new trick
I’m no musician. I never progressed beyond the “recorder and triangle” level in grade school and my effort to learn guitar in college consisted mainly of posing with my guitar for brooding album cover photos.
I’ve always loved music though, and wherever I’ve had the odd chance to strum a guitar or bang a drum I’ve generally taken enthusiastically to the opportunity to annoy the living shit out of anyone within earshot. The rhythm and spontaneity of using a musical instrument to create new sounds is a brand of magic, and even when done incredibly poorly there’s still an intoxicating power in the act of blasting sound into the void.
I think deep down I’ve always thought there was a chance I’d pick up an instrument somehow, but after crossing the bridge onto the wrong side of 40 I kinda figured that idea might have to be tossed onto the growing pile of discarded dreams that I’ve been accumulating at a disturbingly accelerating pace lately. I’ve long since given up on playing in the NFL or hosting SNL, but lost dreams hit different when home ownership or parenthood starts to look out of reach.
It was with the same air of overwrought adolescent maudlinism that brought the previous sentence into this world with which I moved into new accommodations this past fall. For the past 18 months I’ve been working out of town and have been fortunate enough to find a couple good house-sitting gigs to help with expenses. In August I started at a new home whose initial selling points seemed to be the giant TV upstairs and cozy sauna in the basement. It also had an old piano gathering dust and picture frames in a corner of the sunlit living room.
One day not long after moving in I sat down and started doing what I usually do at a piano: playing the black keys in random patterns to approximate the sound of actual piano playing. This is a bad and amateurish trick one can use to crank out a few bars of gibberish that will sound to the untrained ear kind of like music. It’s not very good, but it’s kind of fun and to someone who enjoys rhythmic tapping it has a bit of a hypnotic quality that can keep you entertained for 5 or 10 minutes before it starts to get repetitive and dull.
Usually when I get bored of this fake version of piano playing I call it quits and move on with my day. But for some reason I started wondering what it would take to actually learn to play the damn thing. After all, if I was going to be housesitting at this place for several months, I figured it might just be possible through brute force repetition to pick up a little piano. And while living in the future has added a couple gray hairs to my goatee, it has also afforded me the opportunity to live at a time when literally every problem can be solved by downloading a smartphone application. So that’s what I did. After some quick review reading I downloaded an app called Simply Piano onto my iPhone and decided to give it a quick spin.
You ever hit a crack pipe? Probably not. If you have, no judgment here. I haven’t. But I’m told by sources that it’s an addictive event on par with the first time you have sex, which is something I have, in fact, experienced (humblebrag), and can affirm is something I’d very much like to do again. Ok, using this app was not like having sex or what I imagine freebasing cocaine to be. But after just a few minutes of playing I was profoundly hooked, and six months later my piano habit now consumes much of my free time, keeps me indoors for hours on end and has begun to encroach on my social life. My name is Matt, and I’m a pianoholic.
The key to the app’s power is its simplicity. It can hear the notes a user plays and provides instant feedback on how you’re progressing. When I first began playing, the “teacher” walked me through the most basic of lessons — where to place my hands, what the notes are called and how they correspond to different fingers on each hand, etc. — before putting me through rudimentary versions of simple songs. As I played the notes on the screen, the app told me if I was playing them correctly. If I played a piece correctly, I moved on to the next piece or lesson; when I failed to play the notes right, the app would stop me and make me repeat the section until I got it right.
Playing with the app allowed me to progress at whatever pace worked for me. I could play in the morning for a few minutes before going to work or get in a quick 15-minute lesson while home for lunch. In the evenings I found myself sitting down to play for a quick 20 minutes then looking at the clock and realizing I’d been sitting there for two hours plucking away at “Red River Valley.”
I don’t remember any specific “Ah-Ha” moment during my piano journey, but there have been many times when I’ve found myself literally giggling while I play a new song I’ve learned. Sometimes my fingers seem to find the right notes without me having to think about it, which for me is such a delightful phenomenon and never ceases to provide me with tiny hits of dopamine. It’s hard for me to believe I’m the one doing it.
The app got me to a place where I’m comforatble learning on my own. I’m still very raw, but I’ve progressed to a point where piano is a significant part of my life that I can’t imagine ever giving up. I’m looking into taking actual lessons now and am fascinated by the way my brain is able to slowly but surely pick up this new skill.
Just after Thanksgiving I moved out of the house and into another place. Money hasn’t been as abundant as it could be, but after Christmas my plan was to buy a used keyboard so I could continue playing at the new place. I needed my fix and was already starting to worry I’d lose my newfound skills.
As it turned out I never had to empty my wallet for my new habit. On Christmas Eve my brother and sister-in-law presented me with a brand new electric keyboard, a gift that was completely unexpected and one of the most thoughtful and caring gifts I’ve ever received.
On New Year’s I rang in 2023 by playing “Amazing Grace” while watching the sunrise over a snow-draped landscape. It was a simple moment, unremarkable in most ways but to me as joyful and uplifting as any in recent memory because of what it meant: Something to look forward to. A rekindling of passion. Excitement. Hope. As you get older these things become more fleeting and their return feels like a precious rebirth of spirit, a recapturing of that reckless innocence of youth.
I thought I’d never be a musician. Now I’m thinking of starting a band.
Matt Tunseth is a freelance writer from Alaska who has worked as a reporter and editor at a variety of newspapers, including the (Kenai) Peninsula Clarion, Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman, Chugiak-Eagle River Star, Anchorage Press, Alaska Dispatch News and Anchorage Daily News.
