I’ve had seven piano teachers in my life. The first was Miss V.
She was a talented, elderly woman who taught neighborhood children how to play the piano. I learned how to play by ear from Miss V. She was born blind and taught me to play the same way she learned, by ear. She would play a piece of music, and I would play it back; there was no paper involved. Unorthodox? Yes, but Miss V. taught me to use my ears. Sadly, Miss V. died, and I had to find a new teacher.
Miss G. was a gifted senior in high school who also lived in the neighborhood. She taught me to read music, a skill I resisted but needed to learn. Miss G’s house was always lively. They were a big family, and they all spoke Sicilian. Her mother never let me leave without eating. She’d give me a big bowl of homemade cavatelli, a handful of freshly baked cuccidati, or at least a banana to eat on the way home. Then Miss G. left for college.
Mrs. K. was the teacher I studied with the longest. She was my first teacher with a music degree. Her parents also had music degrees. Her father was a cello professor at SUNY Fredonia, and her mother was a fine pianist. I learned a lot from Mrs. K. and stayed with her until high school graduation. Mrs. K. taught me a lot about music. She also taught me through her approach that good music teaching is about more than just teaching music; it’s about making life better. Music is a great catalyst for making life better.
I entered college as a political science major. I planned to go to law school and eventually become a member of Congress. Unfortunately, I had trouble concentrating in class. As riveting as "The Federalist Papers" are, the sound of Bach, Beethoven, and Debussy emanating from the music building next door called out to me. After a few months, I knew I was in the wrong building and became a music major.
My first two piano teachers in college were graduate students. I don’t remember much about them other than they both had big dreams about becoming famous concert pianists. They’d talk to me about their upcoming recitals. One of them was hoping for a Carnegie Hall performance in Weill Recital Hall. I find people with big dreams attractive. I still have big dreams myself and I’m over... forty years old... (ahem). I hope you still have big dreams, too.
My last classical piano teacher was Professor G. His studio was one of the prestigious piano studios in the music school. Everything about that studio was intimidating. Its heavy, unwelcoming door with the transom window, its two grand pianos for concerto practice, the more advanced students I encountered there, and most of all, Professor G. himself. He was an Arrau protégé with expectations I could never meet. Professor G. toughened me up as a musician. Although the three years I spent in his studio were grueling, they made me a better musician and a stronger person. I learned perseverance, an important life lesson.
My last piano teacher came many years later. Dr. J. was a brilliant jazz specialist. He took the mystery out of music and made it less intimidating. Through intensive study of music theory and musical form, Dr. J. taught me that the concept of a “musical genius” can be a lazy way of explaining hard work. You don’t have to be a musical genius to make good music, but you do need to do the work, study music theory with an emphasis on function, and study musical form. And of course, practice, practice, practice if you want to get to Carnegie Hall... or BTPM Classical Live On Stage.
