I don’t remember the first time I heard Keith Jarrett, but the first album I bought of his was The Koln Concert. I’d never heard someone play the piano like that. It sounded like he was imagining the music without even touching the keys — like a player piano. Sometimes during college when I worked at home, I turned it up as loud as I could until I thought the neighbors might not appreciate it.
We had a piano in our house while growing up. My mother played it regularly, one of my sisters did, and sometimes my father played a few chords and hummed the bass part of a song as he walked by. So, it was often in the background like a soundtrack, someone learning new choral music, practicing for an approaching piano lesson, for pleasure, or when my mom practiced songs she would sing in church, for someone’s wedding, or funeral, the following day. I took lessons and learned to play when I was in seventh grade and lasted only a year before I quit. I wasn’t patient, disciplined, or interested enough to practice and progress very far and still frustrated that I wasn’t more accomplished. The peak of my ability was during my first and only recital. There were about ten students that played that afternoon. I don’t remember where I was in the line-up, but know I followed a girl who amazed and wowed the audience with her ability. I followed with Echo Canyon Pow Wow which began with a series of chords and proceeded mostly with chord progressions throughout. I misplayed the initial chords three times before my teacher walked up, stood next to me, and calmly settled me down. Once she got me started properly, I raced through the song twice as fast as it was supposed to be played. My performance was a disaster.
Three decades later our daughter played in her first recital. She, my wife, and I were all a little nervous driving there, and proud that she was following through with the recital, something she didn’t want to do. When it was her turn, her piano teacher stood nearby like she did with a few of her youngest students. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was clearly projecting my own unresolved chaos from when I was thirteen in the church sanctuary, hoping it wouldn’t turn out like mine had. It didn’t. She did great and after she finished her piece, the audience clapped and without any self-control I stood up, yelled out, and raised my arm in the air like we were at a soccer game, and she’d just scored a goal. I couldn’t help myself.
Being awake and out on the street at seven-thirty in the morning is rare for me, especially while engaged in some sort of physical activity. Sometimes during winter though, when we’ve gotten heavy snow overnight, and maybe even for days in a row, I’ll wake-up early and head to the garage to get the snow blower ready. They say this past winter was one of the top five snowiest and coldest on record in Minnesota. I haven’t Googled it, or checked the Farmer’s Almanac, but I find it hard to believe. It felt exceptionally long, but recently winters have all felt long, with the same amount of snow, and below zero days. I remembered conversations I’d had years ago with my neighbors Charlie and John about how hard past winters had been. They along with their spouses, Lill and Patti, raised their families on our block since the 1960’s, and they all grew up in Minnesota too. I can’t imagine this past winter was any worse than what they experienced out in open country.
Except for the snow falling for days and feeling worn down by managing it, the morning felt good even though it was really early. It was peaceful, and no one else was visible which is my usual preference. I knew I was right where I was supposed to be, and happy, which is sometimes hard to accept. I ran both sides of the length of our block three or four times and then our place before I’d finished hours later. If I thought hard enough, I could almost picture my friends Charlie and John waving at me from their front porch, offering assistance. I refused, but later in the day Lill, or Patti, would send over something warm for us, like cookies, or banana bread. The four of them aren’t here anymore and haven’t been for many years. Instead, I was alone and content in a swirling white room.
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"Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood" — Andy Goldsworthy
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Songs :: The Koln Concert (especially Part One at 7:16) and Changeless albums by Keith Jarrett, Section V by Steve Reich, and Blue Mind by Alexi Murdoch
© C. Davidson