Piano Transcription

I am taking piano lessons from Professor Spynge of the Spyngoforte Institute. I was a little late for our first session since I was not aware that he was supplying the piano. It took me a good forty minutes to haul mine up to his fifth floor studio with the block and tackle and grappling hooks and everything. It was out-of-tune by the time I got to the top, of course, so I had to run out into the street looking for a blind man with a fork. No luck.

We begin by learning to flip our coat tails theatrically over the back of the piano stool and then move on to cracking our knuckles in the spotlight ... well, at least I thought we would start that way since that's what they do on TV - - But no. Professor Spynge seems to be casually dressed and even hands me a flimsy book called "Simple Sonatas For All Occasions."

For all occasions? I don't know about you but I'm only interested in the Big Occasions. If there is no illuminated stage, no velvet curtain, no hushed and respectful audience, then the occasion is not for me. To my dismay, I realize that Professor Spynge is totally small time.

I should have guessed the minute the crane swung my piano in through his studio window. Mine is an ebony grand with its own candelabra and a crystal vase full of red roses attached to the lid. His is one of those rickety upright things shoved up against the wall. His teaching methods leave much to be desired too. What care I for the self-proclaimed mediocrity that is Middle C? I told Professor Spynge I am willing to pay more for a Upper C, but he just stares at me. Insignificant nonsenses like "minor keys" are also beneath contempt. Surely it is obvious that a man like me is only interested in major keys.

And Spynge has the annoying habit of wittering on about something called music. It's a rather dreary sort of noise that goes plink-plonk-plink-plonk-plonk-plonk, and he makes it by fiddling around underneath the hood of his piano. Downright weird. What this absurd sound has to do with learning to receive a standing ovation from the cogniscenti and being called the most talented pianist since Glenn Gould is simply beyond me, so I really didn't think I got my money's worth. After all I just want to be a highly-acclaimed concert pianist, not a tickler of ivories.

Comments

[DarkoV]

Why do the best teachers always have to live up so high in life's dwellings? Is it to be over the muck? Or do look down on it?

And that "Tickler of the Ivories" crack? Isn't it true that all of the gammy gals prefer the tickler over the concert kind of guy?