I’ve started learning ‘March from The Nutcracker’ on piano; much to my brother’s dismay.

Much like many of us I'm sure, my approach to lockdown thus far has been as a sort of trial and error period of experimentation. A chance to do arguably unnecessary things we wouldn't normally have time for, from trying out instagram/tiktok fads like 'dalgona coffee', to catching up with friends and relatives via facetime calls. Amidst the onslaught of new opportunities that present themselves to us in these unusual and uncertain times exists also a space for creative endeavours, since we all suddenly have so. much. more. time; having gained hours due to not having to commute anyway or to attend a certain number of social events deemed socially appropriate per week. Personally, I don't think I'm finding it as difficult maybe as other people have been to find things to do to fill the hours of the day. Whilst I've realised that other people thrive in busy, structured daily schedules, it is something which I find quite chaotic, stressful and, moreover, tedious.  For me, the escape from responsibilities and deadlines has actually been quite a liberating experience. It is an opportunity to return to the half finished knitting absent mindedly cast aside (excuse the pun) into a forgotten corner of the house, which since last winter (which is when i promised my dad I'd make him a scarf), has been slowly gathering dust alongside the wine-brewing kit and the ukelele. 

So far in lockdown, my 'creativity' (a term I use very, very loosely), has extended to painting, expanding my culinary repertoire and trying to read my way through my dad's extensive novel collection. Recently, I also decided to have a go at tinkling the ol' ivories again, if only to convince the rents that my keyboard should stay in the dining room as a communally accessible instrument, ready to be embraced at any minute as the centrepiece of a family jamming session. This scenario has of course never played out before; the partridge family we are not. Nevertheless, the piano stays. 

Up until a few weeks ago, the only songs I'd managed were broken run throughs of the grade pieces I'd painstakingly struggled through about 2 years ago. The process of examination itself something I long ago abandoned after my last grade exam resulted in me walking down an empty street, tears streaming down my face and sheet music clutched to my chest, as I cried on the phone to my mum about how badly it had gone. Change the Ponteland Cul-de-Sac for windswept moors and I reckon I could have easily passed for one of the Bronte's heroines. Not being a piano aficionado even in the most relaxed of circumstances, I think the overwhelming pressure of an eerily silent room in a stranger's house, sat next to an understandably but nevertheless inhospitably haute examiner who'd been wearied by having to listen to one too many 'Allegros' in one day, had just been a bit much for me.  

Two years on, and I decided I probably needed more than 3 tunes up my sleeve, just incase any family members were ever suddenly struck by the insatiable desire to perform and needed an instrumental accompaniment. Flipping through the random sheet music I had lying round (I think maybe it came with the piano?), I decided to start learning the infamous 'March from The Nutcracker'. If anyone is unfamiliar with this particular piece, perhaps the best way I can sum it up in a nutshell (see what I did there?) is a series of rather quite vigorous chords which are meant to drift melodically into a few bars of legato (smooth playing) before rising into crescendo. The thing is, because my piano is actually an electric keyboard and because most often the dining room also contains one or more people concentrating on something at the table, most of the time I practice with headphones plugged in. In fact, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve played piano aloud whilst other members of my family have been in the house. However, although the headphones do block out the sound of me quite frankly butchering Chopin or Sakamoto, unfortunately there is nothing that can be done about the sound the weighted keys make when pressed. This means that the more crescendo and staccato a piece, the harder I press the keys and apparently, the more off-putting my silent playing is to the other occupants of the room. As it so happens, 'The March from the Nutcracker', fits this description quite well. Thus, as my brother has kindly informed me several times, either verbally or with audible sighs and derisive glances from where he's sat poised over his laptop at the table, to hear someone playing 'The March', with only the sound of the frantic pressing of keys and no actual music, is actually quite distracting. In fact, several times he has looked over in quite a state of disbelief that my hammering of the keys can possibly be how the piece actually ought to be played. 

I imagine, that were any sight-impaired person ever to find themselves in our dining room on any given day, what they would experience would be a quite unsettling overt display of heavy-handed thuds from one side, and agitated and frenzied tapping from the other, as my brother works his way through yet another application. Each performance accompanied by intermittent sighs of frustration as we both return to the beginnings of our respective pieces after failed attempts at a full run through. 

Perhaps its time to finish that scarf instead.