The Piano

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    Just listening to Simone Dinnerstein's take on Bach's Goldberg Variations, made famous by Glenn Gould's recordings in the 1950's. She has an altogether different approach to them, a softer, perhaps more lyrical rendering - Gould, in some of his recordings (all impeccable and definitive virtuoso performances) had a slightly harder, more academic edge (which I also like); Dinnerstein's performance somehow suits the afternoon here at the moment - it's hot in Fairview Heights (around 28°C in the garden) and the breeze light.
This brings me back to thinking of my late parents again. Dad, as I've said, could play the piano by ear: he could listen to a tune and have it down in a couple of minutes. Always and only in the key of F♯ - mostly the black notes - melody on the right hand and a two-chord-vamp on the left. He could play for hours without repeating himself, and consequently found favour at parties and in bars & hotels as the occasion presented itself. However, he couldn't read a note of music. Unlike my mother, as I found out late in childhood.
    We always had a piano at home and apart from my limited attempts to coax anything out of it, Dad was the piano player in the house. Until one day at my mother's parents house, Mom picked out some sheet music from the piano stool, sat down and played. I had no idea that she could play, let alone sight-read music. I don't recall hearing her play ever again.

Comments

  1. Helen Palmer30 May 2020 at 16:24

    Love of the piano runs in the family I think. In later years, when I used to pick Grandad up for Sunday dinner, we'd very often have 10 mins on the piano before going back to mum's. I never heard Nan play though, not once.

    ReplyDelete
  2. sideways30 May 2020 at 16:40

    I know - like I say, I never heard her play again...

    ReplyDelete

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