6.10.09




3 σχόλια:

  1. have i told you that my father was a composer, a musician. he was a trumpeter.
    he wanted to teach me how to become one. but my lungs didn´t want to, they were and are too weak.
    people have told me that as a child i knew how to read notes before letters. i have forgotten.
    when i see notation, i think of migratory birds on a wire.

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  2. What I would like to do, is to read a music script like a book. Sometimes, I handle it quite adequately.

    Before a concert or exams, there was an exercise that my teacher had advised me to do: sit on a couch and play, the hands touching the air, the music still present inside.

    Another exercise: play with only the one hand and sing the notes of the other (usually the right hand's melody). Not a taratataa, or a boum boum boum, that can hardly convey the personal feeling about the music.

    Progressively, voice hands air mind get familiarized with their task to cooperate.

    This morning I heard on the radio a tale for children. It was about faith, perfection and imperfection, about wisdom, about music and about love.

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