Another “Piano Year,” which runs Nov. 1 to Oct. 31 (more on that in a future blog entry), is winding down. I’m trying to tie up some loose ends. I’ve been hashing new notes for Scarlatti’s Sonata in B Minor, K. 27, L. 449, as well as Bethena by Scott Joplin. I’m doing a second run of sorts for Inventions Nos. 13 and 14 by Bach. (I hadn’t done those in student daz–devilishly difficult, really.) Oh, and I’m going bonkers dealing with J. S.’s Gigue from the Fifth French Suite. All this after playing a bunch of other things during the summer. So, my plate of leftovers is full.
And I am musically tired. I’m always frustrated and frazzled at the end of Piano Year. Not so much from the actual (almost) daily playing, which has been very enjoyable (and I’ve earned some happiness there, I tell you what), as from the grinding “music director” duty of managing one’s playing . . . depending on the emminent teachers Yuron Yurown and his brother, Mitas-Welbyon Yurown . . . listening to the critic Yugottu B. Kydin.
I feel a sort of piano life shift happening towards cultivating a vast repertoire of already half-learned things more than hunting and gathering new literature: a melancholy relief as what is takes over from what could be.
Oh well, maybe I’m just blue because the days are getting shorter (but I do love fall). Hey, instead of a Pealism, here’s a Deep Thoughts (I can do those, too):
Don’t you hate it when life gives you squash instead of lemons, and all you know how to do is fix lemonade?
