Taking music lessons

 

            The first thing you notice about visiting a musical store are the steps. I have just climbed sixteen steps and I am now waiting to take a Jazz piano lesson The next observation is the myriad of musical instruments in the vicinity. You wonder is the store there for lessons or to sell instruments? I am at the Jerome Green music studio on any street off Lonsdale in North Vancouver. This year I am taking Jazz piano lessons. In previous years I have taken guitar, drums and harmonica. Not at the same time. There is a Periodic chart of musical history on one wall and a Rodney Graham print on the other wall together with a painting of Capilano Canyon Park labeled by a student.

            I have arranged my book so that I can play Gershwin’s Summer Time and Three Friends ago by a local composer. I need help with Charlie Parker’s “Now’s is the Time” but I can’t find the sheet. Maybe I could try  Route 66?

            You can tell the drum and piano students. They only bring their music with them. Look at that poor cello student having to lug the instrument up and down the 16 steps. I never met an upright bass student only electric bass guitar players. There could be a reason. There is always a violin student although they might be adamant that it is a viola. The young kids have smaller violins. Guitar students are bountiful. You have the monosyllable rock wantabes dressed in leather jackets and much hair and the whispering folkies that are going to change the world. Classical guitarists are rare these days. They are stubborn and don’t heed the advice that they should play loud flamingo or something Mexican sounding. They spend most the waiting time examining their finger nails. Last week there were there three ukulele students. Maybe one lesson was sufficient? 

            Drummers walk in with their sticks and a book called Syncopation for the modern drummer. They immediately commence to tap any thing in front of them. Providing drum lessons is a curse for any music studio. Think of the noise? Even with all the sound proofing a gentle paradiddle can be heard throughout the building. An attempted Bolero riff will disturb any angelic flute player but a Ginger Baker’s Toad will terminate all conversations and encourage a summons for evacuation.

            A parent admonishes a brood of children who are running around and having fun. Some of which even roll on the carpet. The children ignore any chastising and continue. One wonders who is taking the lesson and of the adage of musical baby sitting. There is a Doreen at the front desk who does the scheduling and takes payment. When do the teachers get paid? How many teachers are there?

On the hour and half hour many doors open and I am reminded of the Prague astronomical clock where apostles appear. Unlike such astronomical clocks, it is never clear which teachers will exit from the tiny studios. With a melancholy stare, the student precedes the teacher unless there is a parent waiting for an update of the progress. Some teachers have a confident stride others amble out to greet the next student secretly hoping the student has marked last week’s lesson. Many of the teachers only teach for the pay and they still chase the dream as they would rather perform. Often they are absent and cause scheduling night mares for Doreen. Other teachers realized some time ago that teaching was their career with inter disbursed performances at church functions and house parties. Most of the students are kids but there are some older students like me. There is always an air of curiosity about us older students. Are we waiting for grand children or why would we be here? Older students tend to talk to each other unlike the nonchalant teenagers. The older student are divided into two groups even if the groups are small. Some are there to improve their playing or work on a difficult piece. You hear they play with other musicians and they want to improve. Occasionally you hear they are music teachers themselves but they seem hesitant to discuss further. For others it is the year to learn an instrument. Often a ukulele or a flute. Last year it was how to preserve fruit. Next year it might be to learn Japanese. 

    Snippets of sound emanate from the studios and is fun trying to name the pieces. The classical ones are easy to pin down but an Ed Sheeran or TV series piece will place me in the “I haven’t clue,” corner.

            Christmas comes early to a music studio. Well before Halloween the snippets become Rudolph and his reindeer and a 12 bars of Christmas. Posters appear after Halloween announcing the Christmas concert. Participating is almost universal except for the older students who lodge excuses.

            Studio doors open. Now is the time. Here comes my teacher with a sheet of music in her hand.