Encore for something I hadn’t begun
My earliest memory of music involved playing a Chicco educational toy that has all imaginable children’s games: a steering wheel atop an illustrated fictional neighborhood map to teach motor skills and directions; the same map having buttons and images to introduce the alphabet, and some new words and their proper pronunciation; and a dial pad to count numbers and recognize the do-re-mi.
I play nursery rhymes with that toy by pressing number keys that correspond to particular notes, remembering patterns until I build on a familiar tune. My introduction to music was mostly by trial-and-error.
In grade school, we had an electronic keyboard that could play only two keys at a time. (Of course, it was supposed to be just a toy for kids.) Using music sheets from our choir practices in school and applying some music lessons from class along with my “press any key until you get it right” method, I would attempt to learn pieces I’d otherwise usually sing. The most I could play was the melody of the Christmas carol “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and part of Pachelbel’s crowd-favorite Canon in D.
I enjoyed using the piano and my voice, not necessarily altogether nor one after the other. These two musical instruments seem to reach into my core; the only difference being how the latter has no other equipment requirement but the self.
My weekend and summer self-studying of the piano continued until high school. We had a bit of music theory lessons in class that I would incorporate in my sessions. To read notes prior to playing pieces, I laboriously counted the sharps or flats on the key signature and manually, individually adjusted my Every Good Boy Does Fines. (Was it called transposition? I forgot.)
One of my classmates in high school was taking piano lessons, and I asked her for some tips. She made me stretch out my fingers and place them over a piano. They’re short, she noticed, then pointed out that my fingers ought to reach an octave if I wanted to play the piano. Her words broke my young, fragile heart. I guess that’s how I simply stopped trying.
My love for music took a few turns, eventually. In the years that followed, I got busier with academic work and couldn’t find time for having fun with the keyboard. My choir singing had to stop, and I learned to appreciate other song genres. Perhaps to be attributed with hormonal teenage angst, pop and rock were the types of music I preferred giving a listen in my spare time that at some point, I’d feel frustrated my voice doesn’t fit either the belting or the raspiness those kinds of songs oft requires. Gradually, I forgot the joy of singing, too.
I knew I hadn’t enough resources and talent to keep studying the piano on my own, so I’d just imagine myself playing the soundtrack of Fushigi Yuugi, my favorite anime series. I lived vicariously through La Corda D’oro Primo Passo, another anime series whose soundtrack I thoroughly savored until my days in university. (I even used one classical piece I got familiar with, thanks to the anime — Schubert’s Schwanengesang, D 957: No. 4 Standchen — as the music score for one of my projects in university.)
I took a liking to Holst’s The Planets Op 32: Jupiter, which interestingly was used in Corrinne May’s touching prayer-song “The Answer”, and Elgar’s Salut D’amour. Lizst’s La Campanella was a dream piece I am aware I won’t reach.
Schubert’s Ave Maria, which was a common theme in the anime series, became my favorite. Upon learning that the beautiful music comes with a singing part, I studied the lyrics, painstakingly writing down notes on the proper pronunciation of words and practicing, again, during the summer break. I dreamt of one day being able to sing it in front of a crowd — something still listed in my “sort of” bucket list — though right now, I’m content singing mere parts of it whenever I’m inspired, mostly at midnight. That’s almost always either while I’m alone, unwinding in my place before bedtime, or in our office washroom, as I take a break from an all-nighter. The latter often comes with a funny anecdote about how someone would hear me (often a maintenance staff) and think there’s a female ghost singing. The look on that person’s face = priceless!
There’s also musical theater, which I like particularly because it’s the closest thing I know to classical singing in the sense that both styles are essentially storytelling. That’s just about it, though. I had no formal training. No attempt to take actual lessons. Burying my hope within to make room for other passions I discovered along the way.
A year or so ago, I entertained the thought that I could rekindle my love affair with music by purchasing a ukulele because it’s supposedly one of the easiest, if not the easiest, instruments. I did learn a few chords within a week of practice and got to play Disney’s “Lava” — albeit with a missing chord, story to follow shortly — as well as fingerpick La Vie En Rose.
Still, I plateaued by my fifth chord and just gave up. Somehow, the supposedly simple F, for me, isn’t. Now, the red ukulele I even took time to personalize is gathering dust.
I contemplated buying a kalimba, at times referred to as a “finger piano”. Despite the urge, I had to stop myself from making the purchase out of fear the new instrument would end up like my ukulele.
Giving myself time to think about the motivation behind my musical urge made me realize something about myself: that what I really wanted was to learn to play the piano or, because I don’t have the finances to actually have my own piano, to sing well. Only because I believed the story I tell myself that I’m just not cut out for either, I projected my frustration to other “easier” instruments that I do not like as much.
One lazy Saturday night, YouTube randomly recommended a TwoSet Violin video on my feed. I watched it. I enjoyed what I watched. Unintentionally, I found myself watching their other videos for hours, guffawing ever so often, clearly enjoying the time I could’ve better spent sleeping. Now, I’m a fan of Brett Yang and Eddy Chen, the two classical violinists who keep and create the video channel.
^ First video uploaded
Their content made me rediscover the depth of my feelings that churn out whenever I hear good music. The violin, in particular, produces a soulful sound I remember having loved so much in my younger years. ‘Tis often sweet, at times somber, always elegant.
The comedic classical duo stress the importance of practice (Ling Ling and forty hours a day!), and I adore how TwoSet are keeping things real through skits depicting the life of music students as well as by allowing viewers access to how they, who have years of experience and practice, can still get disappointed with themselves or nervous before a performance.
From hours and hours of watching random videos of Brett and Eddy playing violin charades, roasting celebrities or fictional characters using the violin, reacting to Reddit memes, and occasionally performing more seriously, I mustered enough courage to finally inquire about the extension program and voice lessons being offered in the country’s premier university — a possible encore for something I hadn’t even, at least not formally, begun.
So, thank you, Brett and Eddy. Hope you’d release your tour dates soon; I’ll be sure to find a way to watch you two. •
I play nursery rhymes with that toy by pressing number keys that correspond to particular notes, remembering patterns until I build on a familiar tune. My introduction to music was mostly by trial-and-error.
In grade school, we had an electronic keyboard that could play only two keys at a time. (Of course, it was supposed to be just a toy for kids.) Using music sheets from our choir practices in school and applying some music lessons from class along with my “press any key until you get it right” method, I would attempt to learn pieces I’d otherwise usually sing. The most I could play was the melody of the Christmas carol “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and part of Pachelbel’s crowd-favorite Canon in D.
I enjoyed using the piano and my voice, not necessarily altogether nor one after the other. These two musical instruments seem to reach into my core; the only difference being how the latter has no other equipment requirement but the self.
My weekend and summer self-studying of the piano continued until high school. We had a bit of music theory lessons in class that I would incorporate in my sessions. To read notes prior to playing pieces, I laboriously counted the sharps or flats on the key signature and manually, individually adjusted my Every Good Boy Does Fines. (Was it called transposition? I forgot.)
One of my classmates in high school was taking piano lessons, and I asked her for some tips. She made me stretch out my fingers and place them over a piano. They’re short, she noticed, then pointed out that my fingers ought to reach an octave if I wanted to play the piano. Her words broke my young, fragile heart. I guess that’s how I simply stopped trying.
My love for music took a few turns, eventually. In the years that followed, I got busier with academic work and couldn’t find time for having fun with the keyboard. My choir singing had to stop, and I learned to appreciate other song genres. Perhaps to be attributed with hormonal teenage angst, pop and rock were the types of music I preferred giving a listen in my spare time that at some point, I’d feel frustrated my voice doesn’t fit either the belting or the raspiness those kinds of songs oft requires. Gradually, I forgot the joy of singing, too.
I knew I hadn’t enough resources and talent to keep studying the piano on my own, so I’d just imagine myself playing the soundtrack of Fushigi Yuugi, my favorite anime series. I lived vicariously through La Corda D’oro Primo Passo, another anime series whose soundtrack I thoroughly savored until my days in university. (I even used one classical piece I got familiar with, thanks to the anime — Schubert’s Schwanengesang, D 957: No. 4 Standchen — as the music score for one of my projects in university.)
I took a liking to Holst’s The Planets Op 32: Jupiter, which interestingly was used in Corrinne May’s touching prayer-song “The Answer”, and Elgar’s Salut D’amour. Lizst’s La Campanella was a dream piece I am aware I won’t reach.
Schubert’s Ave Maria, which was a common theme in the anime series, became my favorite. Upon learning that the beautiful music comes with a singing part, I studied the lyrics, painstakingly writing down notes on the proper pronunciation of words and practicing, again, during the summer break. I dreamt of one day being able to sing it in front of a crowd — something still listed in my “sort of” bucket list — though right now, I’m content singing mere parts of it whenever I’m inspired, mostly at midnight. That’s almost always either while I’m alone, unwinding in my place before bedtime, or in our office washroom, as I take a break from an all-nighter. The latter often comes with a funny anecdote about how someone would hear me (often a maintenance staff) and think there’s a female ghost singing. The look on that person’s face = priceless!
There’s also musical theater, which I like particularly because it’s the closest thing I know to classical singing in the sense that both styles are essentially storytelling. That’s just about it, though. I had no formal training. No attempt to take actual lessons. Burying my hope within to make room for other passions I discovered along the way.
A year or so ago, I entertained the thought that I could rekindle my love affair with music by purchasing a ukulele because it’s supposedly one of the easiest, if not the easiest, instruments. I did learn a few chords within a week of practice and got to play Disney’s “Lava” — albeit with a missing chord, story to follow shortly — as well as fingerpick La Vie En Rose.
Still, I plateaued by my fifth chord and just gave up. Somehow, the supposedly simple F, for me, isn’t. Now, the red ukulele I even took time to personalize is gathering dust.
I contemplated buying a kalimba, at times referred to as a “finger piano”. Despite the urge, I had to stop myself from making the purchase out of fear the new instrument would end up like my ukulele.
Giving myself time to think about the motivation behind my musical urge made me realize something about myself: that what I really wanted was to learn to play the piano or, because I don’t have the finances to actually have my own piano, to sing well. Only because I believed the story I tell myself that I’m just not cut out for either, I projected my frustration to other “easier” instruments that I do not like as much.
One lazy Saturday night, YouTube randomly recommended a TwoSet Violin video on my feed. I watched it. I enjoyed what I watched. Unintentionally, I found myself watching their other videos for hours, guffawing ever so often, clearly enjoying the time I could’ve better spent sleeping. Now, I’m a fan of Brett Yang and Eddy Chen, the two classical violinists who keep and create the video channel.
^ First video uploaded
Their content made me rediscover the depth of my feelings that churn out whenever I hear good music. The violin, in particular, produces a soulful sound I remember having loved so much in my younger years. ‘Tis often sweet, at times somber, always elegant.
The comedic classical duo stress the importance of practice (Ling Ling and forty hours a day!), and I adore how TwoSet are keeping things real through skits depicting the life of music students as well as by allowing viewers access to how they, who have years of experience and practice, can still get disappointed with themselves or nervous before a performance.
From hours and hours of watching random videos of Brett and Eddy playing violin charades, roasting celebrities or fictional characters using the violin, reacting to Reddit memes, and occasionally performing more seriously, I mustered enough courage to finally inquire about the extension program and voice lessons being offered in the country’s premier university — a possible encore for something I hadn’t even, at least not formally, begun.
So, thank you, Brett and Eddy. Hope you’d release your tour dates soon; I’ll be sure to find a way to watch you two. •