Two Young Girls at the Piano, 1892
Growing up, I played piano. Sometimes, I still do. My sister is actually way more musical than me and can play music that is far more advanced. (I’m not being humble here. She not only played four instruments growing up, she played all of them exceptionally well.) Me? Well… most of the time, I make people cry. I’m not a miserable person, but I can’t really play music unless it’s kinda sad. I don’t have the skill my sister has, but I play melancholy music well. If it’s in a minor key, and has a pensive feel to it, that’s the song for me. I started writing music at about 16, but most of what I “write” is really just broken chords in minor keys, with a little bit of melody thrown in. Since I do it free form, it also helped me learn how to glaze over mistakes and incorporate them into songs.
Other people tend to either love it or hate it. It’s one of those things. I don’t typically get offended either way. I know that music is largely personal preference. Here is the thing though. My oldest child hates it. He is very musical, and was humming whole songs before he even started talking. Yet, he screams whenever I play. He always has, so I play less and less. Today he actually told me, “That music… disturbs me.” I stopped playing immediately.
I am not going to say what I think about this, because I can’t quite find the words.