Playing piano

Coming out of the holidays, my eldest had been complaining about boredom and lack of company: “You spend more time with my younger brothers.”

I joked, “Do you want me to change your nappies?”

More seriously, I asked him what he would like me to do with him. He said he wanted me to accompany him while he played the piano.

When he started lessons a few years back, I learned with him. I had done just enough piano in high school to give up. I thought learning together would encourage him. Besides, I thought I would enjoy it myself. I had been encouraged by a friend of mine who was learning as an adult.

At first, the way I got my son to practise was to practise myself. That would be enough to provoke him. He would hear me play, rush over, and kick me off so he could have a turn.

Over time, things settled. He practised regularly, though more reluctantly. I became busier. Our practice drifted apart. Still, I kept learning.

So today, when I sat beside him as he asked, and he told me he was frustrated, I knew what he meant. He tried again and again and couldn’t get it right.

“I’m not good,” he said.

When I picked up piano again with him a few years back, my instinct was to play passages over and over until it clicked. I learned that this only trained the mistake.

My friend told me that when he learns, he plays a piece very slowly and counts the tempo out loud. The aim is accuracy rather than fluency.

Still, something felt missing. I said to my teacher that I seemed to be playing notes, not music. Part of it was the pace I set. As I became fluent in one piece, I would move on to another. I was always learning a piece and never stayed with one.

Last year, I did not learn new pieces. Instead, my teacher helped me revise older ones. Throughout the year, I focused on musicality rather than just accuracy.

At periods, I stopped trying to get better with a piece.

For the first time, I heard the music, not just the notes. Even if it sounded crude to other people, I was enjoying what I played. I made mistakes, for sure—but suddenly they didn’t seem to matter so much.

As I sat there with my son, who was frustrated, I said, “Let’s play very slowly and count aloud together.”

At first he was shy about it. He didn’t like hearing himself count and was worried the teacher would hear him. I told him it didn’t matter.

Counting whilst playing turned out to be hard. He grew frustrated again. 

Eventually, he managed to play the passage slowly and accurately.

Then I said, “Whenever you practise a piece of music, always count out loud at the beginning. But at the end of each session, I want you to stop counting.”

“Don’t worry about whether you are playing correctly. Just listen to what you’re playing and try to enjoy it.”

He moved on to his next piece. He didn’t want me to count with him anymore. “It’s confusing when we both count,” he said. So I waited as he played.

When he finished, I reminded him to play it once more, but this time, focus on enjoying what he hears.

I can’t tell if he did what I suggested. But I asked whether he thought the music he just played was beautiful.

“Yep.”