For several years now I have complained to those close to me about the decline in my playing. The toils of life and the responsibilities of being a father and husband have all but killed my practice time, at least that was my excuse. My fingers, I would say, are not what they used to be. And it’s true – back in “my day,” I could play the head to Donna Lee in octaves with both hands. The big nasty secret in all of this is, of course, that I wasn’t playing very musically back then, either – I was just playing fast. Now that I’ve stopped practicing regularly, my fingers have slowed down a great deal, but at least I still had a strong sense of what was musical. Over 2009, however, even that has started to fade away, leaving me nothing more than an empty shell of licks and chords fit only for the worst of lounge pianos.
Thus, I have been wrestling with the question of why my musical personality has begun to fade. Why are there no new ideas in my mind? Why do the same tired licks come out of my fingers each time I sit down to play? Why do I not get excited over the prospect of playing anymore? The answer came in recent weeks, traveling to Yet Another Wedding Reception Gig with my good friend Don. On the way home, we listened to some heavy music. As we were driving, I asked him some pretty probing questions about how he hears music, and what he draws from listening to great composers. His answer was profound in its simplicity – “I don’t think about all of that stuff; I just listen.”
Of course! His simple answer had hit be square between the eyes. The primary reason for my decline was that I was not listening to music anymore, I was just playing. Thus, all that my ears heard was only what my brain knew, meaning that my musical abilities never grew beyond what I was capable of. If practicing is the process of giving your voice a vehicle, how do you gain a voice to express? What good is all the technique in the world if you have nothing to say? This is why a musician must listen, both passively and critically, to everything that he can get his hands on.
Thus the excitement is sparked again, but now the question arises – what do I listen to? I’ve downloaded countless (free as in freedom) albums of music lately, but none of them have inspired me to any great lengths. Tonight, however, that changed, when (somehow) I stumbled upon this:
Glenn Gould, my favorite pianist of all time, playing my favorite composer – Bach. Hearing this caused my heart to literally leap with joy. It has been so many years since I’ve thought about Gould that it was like seeing a long lost friend. His interpretations of Bach are somewhat questioned by some; I have rather nasty memories of being told not to play like him by teachers. Yet, he is a genius. Take, for example, this amazing short interview with him on the playing of a Mozart piece:
The first comment on the YouTube page is rather telling:
Is Gould pretty much saying that his Mozart was played for the purpose of trolling the musical establishment?
Yup, he is. 
My joy has returned. My muse has come home. No, I cannot play anything like Gould can, but it sure feels good to want to again.
Josh
