That’s a cool story, Sean. What a blessing to enjoy that gift. I don’t have it. I am hopelessly tin-eared. I tried. We got our piano when I was 6 and Mom arranged lessons immediately. My dear ol’ Dad was ear trained and played boogie woogie riffs that you couldn’t help bopping to. Mom played the guitar left to her that had been a wedding gift to her grandmother. I had this treasure until I passed it to my daughter who DOES have the gift, thank God.
As for me I practiced the piano every day. I could mimic the sound, my timing was good, I could read and play the correct notes, but I couldn’t make the music come out.
The school band was a total washout. They selected flute for which I was happy. Things went well at first because I was ahead of the other students learning to read music for the first time. Then I got braces. That made playing the flute a little trickier. Then the sadistic orthodontist cemented a head brace into my mouth and around my head. He claimed I wasn’t wearing the torture device the prescribed number of hours. I was meticulous. Mom tried to tell him. He didn’t believe us. The issue was an unusually difficult orthodontic issue and he was a sadist and a ham-fist. You can’t play a flute that way. Mom begged the director to let me change instruments; she recommended the glockenspiel from my piano experience. He said he had no spot for such an instrument or any other instrument in his 7th grade junior high band. I was kicked out. I am still crushed by this and I’m well on into my 60’s. I managed to survive the trauma and found other talents and entertainments.
Along comes my child. By the time she was 3, we could tell she had an affinity for music. She could sing and dance and any musical toy got a lot of creative use. She wanted a guitar, not a toy, a real one. We held out until she was 6. I still had my trusty old piano that I still attempted to pound into producing music. I announced we’d get her piano lessons. My husband said that we should get her a guitar. I argued that music theory can be much more completely learned on the piano, and we argued about this noisily for some time.
Finally my husband said, “We need to get her a guitar and I have 2 good reasons.”
I crossed my arms ready for battle and said, “What?”
He said, “First she WANTS to play the guitar. The piano has been sitting there her whole life. Do you ever see her play with it?”
“No,” I grudgingly conceded. I still had the bigoted theory about music theory and pianos.
“Second,” my husband continued, “when she goes to college, she can’t take a piano with her like she can a guitar.”
He had me there. The little I knew of the piano sat and staled while I studied at college, then as I got busy with my career. I got a piano a few years later but I never did get back the little I’d left home with.
Fine. We got her a guitar, getting advice on her young size, but the importance of the neck to be standard, while she needs to be able reach around the head to strum or pick as called for. The notion of her starting on my great grandmother’s Martin from her 1899 wedding was not an option.
We got a right-sized guitar and some digital lessons. We decided I would drag out the Martin and learn with her. I’d never gotten very far on my own, maybe the motivation of her learning with me would get me over my own musical hump. We started practicing and learning.
I traveled for a living. After we’d had 2 lessons together, we were ready for lesson 3 as I came home. She couldn’t wait and it was reported that she faithfully practiced the exercises from the second lesson.
I put my hat down and sat with her to attend lesson 3. It this lesson, we learned our 3rd chord which makes up the main compliment of chords for a whole bunch of songs, as you probably know. The lesson was working on changing chords and putting a rhythm to that and dexterity to the changes. I stuttered. I was ham-fisted and having trouble with the exercises. My cherubic little girl said, “Like this, Mama,” and proceeded to do the exercise perfectly. Then she changed it up slightly, then she added a varied rhythm, then she jammed with herself for a minute or so while I watched amazed and entranced.
She said, “Oh! I just wrote a song, Mama!”
I smiled at her and said, “So I hear! Can you play it again?”
So she did. 😳 I immediately put my guitar away, went out to where my husband was and announced, “We need professional help.”
We found a guitar teacher who was a PhD in the local college for such, but taught young kids and did weddings and such on the side. He was a classical concert guitarist and he was a true blessing to our musical dilemma. He taught our little girl music theory. A lot of music theory. She blew through book one so fast he didn’t bother with book 2. By the 3rd grade, he encouraged us to purchase a much better acoustic guitar because, “She’s that good.” We showed him the Martin and he nearly drooled on it, but admitted she should wait a bit for that. In the 4th grade, she played “Dust in the Wind” with a very complicated picking pattern and every adult in the place was brought to tears. When she asked me why everyone was crying, I said, “You nailed it, Honey.”
A couple years later she was playing these wonderful Spanish selections that showed more than ten notes to be played at once. I asked, “How do you play that? It’s showing more than ten notes and you only have ten fingers!”
She snorted at me and said, “Oh Mama.” I shut up and let her play.
She played this one piece that almost always got to me. I was quietly dusting while she practiced, and as she finished, she caught me standing there with my dust rag in mid swipe, completely mesmerized with tears glistening both eyes.
She impishly said, “I nailed it, didn’t I, Mama?” Sometimes she had an edge of sass to her, but the kid had talent.
Off she went to high school where she played clarinet in 2 different bands. She picked it up like she’d always played it. I commented on this and she said that the clarinet was so easy because you only had to play one note at a time. Well, I guess.
Off to college where she brought along her clarinet for band necessities.
A few weeks in she called and excitedly informed me that she had made it onto the marching band.
I was confused. I knew the “marching band” at that institution was a drum and bugle corps. I questioned this.
She said, “That’s right! I’m playing the mellophone.”
Mellophone?! I’d been hanging around marching bands with her for years and I’d never heard of such a thing. She explained that it’s used in drum and bugle corps to bring a sound like a French horn, different from a trumpet.
I tried, “Well how do you know how to play one?”
She told the story of the band weekend where the leader asked her if she could play it. She was sure she could. He gave it to her and a beginning book and told her to go work on it and come back in a couple hours for him to assess.
She said she returned to her room and paged through the book.
She said, “The first song was my old fave, ‘Hot Cross Buns,’” the first selection in most music training books by her rather large experience.
She flipped to the back of the book and studied the fingering chart. Then she got out her clarinet music she had to this point and taught herself to play the national anthem and the school’s anthem on the mellophone, adjusting as necessary for the mellophone from the clarinet.
The leader had said 2 hours. She’d used a half hour. She set an alarm and took a nap.
She went back out and the leader asked her if she could play. She told him she could. He asked to hear it. She proceeded to march up and down in front of him in perfect cadence to the two selections she’d practiced.
He said, “The girl has skills.” She was the only freshman selected for the corps.
Hearing this I asked, “But you never played a brass instrument before. How were you do sure you could?”
She said, “You won’t like this, Mama, but I’ve played every instrument in the band since 6th grade. We traded all the time. I can play a lick or two on everything.”
I responded, “Ew! Gross, but a mellophone? You never saw a mellophone before. How did you know?”
She said, “Well, they told us it was like a cross between a trumpet and a French horn. I’ve played both. I knew I could figure it out.”
I shut up.
She married, an engineer at a car manufacturer, and plays the violin now. I enjoy a couple recital concerts each year. She got the Martin as a wedding gift and she gets it down and lovingly plays it now and then.
My kid has skills. I, sadly don’t. You’re lucky, Sean. Your gift is a blessing not everyone enjoys, except your listeners. I’d tap my toes, but don’t ask me to sing along. I can’t do that either. It was the 3rd grade music teacher who instructed me to mouth the words but don’t sing for the Christmas concert. The wounds are deep, but those tormentors did not lie. Some have it and some don’t.
My best piano-playing kin played for My Guy and me last night. Music helped our family's grieving boy who's now a young man with ginger hair and flying fingers on the keyboard. In between the music, we talked about gifts his father left him before he left this world the same way your father did, Sean. Coincidence here with "Hapless Musician" in my inbox today? No. Not at all.
Here WAS a LOT to your father, even tho he could be rough around the edges. He did gift you many things in the way of introducing you to sports, music, ethics......and many wonderful memories. It's a shame he didn't seek or get the help he needed. Back then, seeking mental health help was unheard of, especially by stoic men. We, society, are so much more aware now of this subject and the stigma is less, but we humans (this country) STILL don't get that each day that goes by without meaningful mental health programs availability is letting down SO MANY people, ESPECIALLY CHILDREN. Since the early days of the pandemic in our country were so mishandled by the government leaders preaching denial, we didn't get a jump on prevention. Children, and therefore, this country's future is paying the price.
Music is a wonderful remedy for the soul and the heart! So glad you found it and made it your life long companion. God blesses us with music. Thank you for being His instrument in so many ways!
So happy you’re playing at the Grand Old Opry. If the tickets had been a bit more reasonable I might have convinced my hubby to go. I’m sure it’ll be fun for you and your audience. Congratulations on the great achievement.
You have an amazing character and are an amazing character. I’m so glad you taught yourself to play the piano, like you taught yourself many other things. You composted all of the horrific into beautiful gifts for those around you. You’re the hero of the story, of all the stories. Your ability to see the good in everyone is truly remarkable.
I agree with Suellen, your Daddy gave you many gifts, and the piano was the last material one. That last line cured my dry eyes. And yes, music covers all scenarios. It enhances love; it can match sadness; it can make a good time even better; and as a former singer (who lost her voice), I still try my best to sing. I have many good memories of singing or simply enjoying the music. And Linda Moon, I"m sorry for your loss!
Your article reminds me of how my dad fed my mechanical interest when I was young. Christmas and birthdays meant a new tool needed. He fed the fire in me for fixing things. He passed before seeing my adult successes as an uneducated self taught engineer at one of the largest companies in the world. I didn't do well in school but dad seen my gift and drive and somehow knew I'd make it.
My sons are both working bass players, and they hear those same jokes about them! I love music, too, and I love your stories, Sean Dietrich. And I love you too.
That’s a cool story, Sean. What a blessing to enjoy that gift. I don’t have it. I am hopelessly tin-eared. I tried. We got our piano when I was 6 and Mom arranged lessons immediately. My dear ol’ Dad was ear trained and played boogie woogie riffs that you couldn’t help bopping to. Mom played the guitar left to her that had been a wedding gift to her grandmother. I had this treasure until I passed it to my daughter who DOES have the gift, thank God.
As for me I practiced the piano every day. I could mimic the sound, my timing was good, I could read and play the correct notes, but I couldn’t make the music come out.
The school band was a total washout. They selected flute for which I was happy. Things went well at first because I was ahead of the other students learning to read music for the first time. Then I got braces. That made playing the flute a little trickier. Then the sadistic orthodontist cemented a head brace into my mouth and around my head. He claimed I wasn’t wearing the torture device the prescribed number of hours. I was meticulous. Mom tried to tell him. He didn’t believe us. The issue was an unusually difficult orthodontic issue and he was a sadist and a ham-fist. You can’t play a flute that way. Mom begged the director to let me change instruments; she recommended the glockenspiel from my piano experience. He said he had no spot for such an instrument or any other instrument in his 7th grade junior high band. I was kicked out. I am still crushed by this and I’m well on into my 60’s. I managed to survive the trauma and found other talents and entertainments.
Along comes my child. By the time she was 3, we could tell she had an affinity for music. She could sing and dance and any musical toy got a lot of creative use. She wanted a guitar, not a toy, a real one. We held out until she was 6. I still had my trusty old piano that I still attempted to pound into producing music. I announced we’d get her piano lessons. My husband said that we should get her a guitar. I argued that music theory can be much more completely learned on the piano, and we argued about this noisily for some time.
Finally my husband said, “We need to get her a guitar and I have 2 good reasons.”
I crossed my arms ready for battle and said, “What?”
He said, “First she WANTS to play the guitar. The piano has been sitting there her whole life. Do you ever see her play with it?”
“No,” I grudgingly conceded. I still had the bigoted theory about music theory and pianos.
“Second,” my husband continued, “when she goes to college, she can’t take a piano with her like she can a guitar.”
He had me there. The little I knew of the piano sat and staled while I studied at college, then as I got busy with my career. I got a piano a few years later but I never did get back the little I’d left home with.
Fine. We got her a guitar, getting advice on her young size, but the importance of the neck to be standard, while she needs to be able reach around the head to strum or pick as called for. The notion of her starting on my great grandmother’s Martin from her 1899 wedding was not an option.
We got a right-sized guitar and some digital lessons. We decided I would drag out the Martin and learn with her. I’d never gotten very far on my own, maybe the motivation of her learning with me would get me over my own musical hump. We started practicing and learning.
I traveled for a living. After we’d had 2 lessons together, we were ready for lesson 3 as I came home. She couldn’t wait and it was reported that she faithfully practiced the exercises from the second lesson.
I put my hat down and sat with her to attend lesson 3. It this lesson, we learned our 3rd chord which makes up the main compliment of chords for a whole bunch of songs, as you probably know. The lesson was working on changing chords and putting a rhythm to that and dexterity to the changes. I stuttered. I was ham-fisted and having trouble with the exercises. My cherubic little girl said, “Like this, Mama,” and proceeded to do the exercise perfectly. Then she changed it up slightly, then she added a varied rhythm, then she jammed with herself for a minute or so while I watched amazed and entranced.
She said, “Oh! I just wrote a song, Mama!”
I smiled at her and said, “So I hear! Can you play it again?”
So she did. 😳 I immediately put my guitar away, went out to where my husband was and announced, “We need professional help.”
We found a guitar teacher who was a PhD in the local college for such, but taught young kids and did weddings and such on the side. He was a classical concert guitarist and he was a true blessing to our musical dilemma. He taught our little girl music theory. A lot of music theory. She blew through book one so fast he didn’t bother with book 2. By the 3rd grade, he encouraged us to purchase a much better acoustic guitar because, “She’s that good.” We showed him the Martin and he nearly drooled on it, but admitted she should wait a bit for that. In the 4th grade, she played “Dust in the Wind” with a very complicated picking pattern and every adult in the place was brought to tears. When she asked me why everyone was crying, I said, “You nailed it, Honey.”
A couple years later she was playing these wonderful Spanish selections that showed more than ten notes to be played at once. I asked, “How do you play that? It’s showing more than ten notes and you only have ten fingers!”
She snorted at me and said, “Oh Mama.” I shut up and let her play.
She played this one piece that almost always got to me. I was quietly dusting while she practiced, and as she finished, she caught me standing there with my dust rag in mid swipe, completely mesmerized with tears glistening both eyes.
She impishly said, “I nailed it, didn’t I, Mama?” Sometimes she had an edge of sass to her, but the kid had talent.
Off she went to high school where she played clarinet in 2 different bands. She picked it up like she’d always played it. I commented on this and she said that the clarinet was so easy because you only had to play one note at a time. Well, I guess.
Off to college where she brought along her clarinet for band necessities.
A few weeks in she called and excitedly informed me that she had made it onto the marching band.
I was confused. I knew the “marching band” at that institution was a drum and bugle corps. I questioned this.
She said, “That’s right! I’m playing the mellophone.”
Mellophone?! I’d been hanging around marching bands with her for years and I’d never heard of such a thing. She explained that it’s used in drum and bugle corps to bring a sound like a French horn, different from a trumpet.
I tried, “Well how do you know how to play one?”
She told the story of the band weekend where the leader asked her if she could play it. She was sure she could. He gave it to her and a beginning book and told her to go work on it and come back in a couple hours for him to assess.
She said she returned to her room and paged through the book.
She said, “The first song was my old fave, ‘Hot Cross Buns,’” the first selection in most music training books by her rather large experience.
She flipped to the back of the book and studied the fingering chart. Then she got out her clarinet music she had to this point and taught herself to play the national anthem and the school’s anthem on the mellophone, adjusting as necessary for the mellophone from the clarinet.
The leader had said 2 hours. She’d used a half hour. She set an alarm and took a nap.
She went back out and the leader asked her if she could play. She told him she could. He asked to hear it. She proceeded to march up and down in front of him in perfect cadence to the two selections she’d practiced.
He said, “The girl has skills.” She was the only freshman selected for the corps.
Hearing this I asked, “But you never played a brass instrument before. How were you do sure you could?”
She said, “You won’t like this, Mama, but I’ve played every instrument in the band since 6th grade. We traded all the time. I can play a lick or two on everything.”
I responded, “Ew! Gross, but a mellophone? You never saw a mellophone before. How did you know?”
She said, “Well, they told us it was like a cross between a trumpet and a French horn. I’ve played both. I knew I could figure it out.”
I shut up.
She married, an engineer at a car manufacturer, and plays the violin now. I enjoy a couple recital concerts each year. She got the Martin as a wedding gift and she gets it down and lovingly plays it now and then.
My kid has skills. I, sadly don’t. You’re lucky, Sean. Your gift is a blessing not everyone enjoys, except your listeners. I’d tap my toes, but don’t ask me to sing along. I can’t do that either. It was the 3rd grade music teacher who instructed me to mouth the words but don’t sing for the Christmas concert. The wounds are deep, but those tormentors did not lie. Some have it and some don’t.
I would say your father gave you many gifts. Too numerous to count. Amazing really considering his short lifespan.
My best piano-playing kin played for My Guy and me last night. Music helped our family's grieving boy who's now a young man with ginger hair and flying fingers on the keyboard. In between the music, we talked about gifts his father left him before he left this world the same way your father did, Sean. Coincidence here with "Hapless Musician" in my inbox today? No. Not at all.
And God gave you the gift to use your talents and the instruments well. Happy to know you, Sean of the South.
Here WAS a LOT to your father, even tho he could be rough around the edges. He did gift you many things in the way of introducing you to sports, music, ethics......and many wonderful memories. It's a shame he didn't seek or get the help he needed. Back then, seeking mental health help was unheard of, especially by stoic men. We, society, are so much more aware now of this subject and the stigma is less, but we humans (this country) STILL don't get that each day that goes by without meaningful mental health programs availability is letting down SO MANY people, ESPECIALLY CHILDREN. Since the early days of the pandemic in our country were so mishandled by the government leaders preaching denial, we didn't get a jump on prevention. Children, and therefore, this country's future is paying the price.
Music is a wonderful remedy for the soul and the heart! So glad you found it and made it your life long companion. God blesses us with music. Thank you for being His instrument in so many ways!
So happy you’re playing at the Grand Old Opry. If the tickets had been a bit more reasonable I might have convinced my hubby to go. I’m sure it’ll be fun for you and your audience. Congratulations on the great achievement.
I couldn’t have said it better! Music heals, it fills our souls. A world without music is, well...silent.
Love you man! Keep the music playing!
Pone, question. Is this artwork you do watercolor or done on an ipad? It really adds to the stories. PURTY COOL.
YOUR FRIEND,
PUBERT
You have an amazing character and are an amazing character. I’m so glad you taught yourself to play the piano, like you taught yourself many other things. You composted all of the horrific into beautiful gifts for those around you. You’re the hero of the story, of all the stories. Your ability to see the good in everyone is truly remarkable.
I agree with Suellen, your Daddy gave you many gifts, and the piano was the last material one. That last line cured my dry eyes. And yes, music covers all scenarios. It enhances love; it can match sadness; it can make a good time even better; and as a former singer (who lost her voice), I still try my best to sing. I have many good memories of singing or simply enjoying the music. And Linda Moon, I"m sorry for your loss!
Your article reminds me of how my dad fed my mechanical interest when I was young. Christmas and birthdays meant a new tool needed. He fed the fire in me for fixing things. He passed before seeing my adult successes as an uneducated self taught engineer at one of the largest companies in the world. I didn't do well in school but dad seen my gift and drive and somehow knew I'd make it.
Well bubba, we are glad your daddy bought you that piano.
Thank you.
My sons are both working bass players, and they hear those same jokes about them! I love music, too, and I love your stories, Sean Dietrich. And I love you too.
What a wonderful gift.