A Musical Tapestry

Classical music fans make up approximately 2% of the US population, a tiny but steadfast minority. Although I grew up in a small town, raised by a single mom with four kids in a household where music was incidental, I’m not only part of that musical minority, I even made the main character in my novel a piano teacher who’s passionate about classical piano, especially Mozart’s. What can explain my unlikely enthusiasm for classical music?

I believe it’s because a thread of music ran through my growing-up years, and something in me responded. Key people added threads by providing introductions and expanding my musical horizons. Like the stories I read voraciously opened doors about faraway people and places, music stirred emotions I could neither understand completely nor verbalize, and wove itself into the rich tapestry of my psyche.

My maternal grandfather sat on the wooden seat of an elaborately carved stool and played the old Fischer upright in his living room. He’d sing along to “Home, Home on the Range,” “Oh Susannah,” and “I Dream of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” and   I watched, fascinated, as his fingers moved over the keys and his feet worked the pedals. Music was part of happy times, shared with someone who truly loved me.

In the cozy log church built by the congregation, music was part of every service an my family attended every Sunday. We sang Protestant hymns accompanied by the piano or organ, junior and senior choirs performed in colorful robes, and frequent solos showcased the voices of various church members. One Christmastime when I was in the junior choir, we sang a traditional carol in Norwegian, which caused several old Norwegian immigrants to weep. This mystified me. Why would anyone cry over music? Now I know.

According to family legend, as an extraordinarily talented teenager my aunt Norma dreamed of a concert career, but others convinced her that a life of constant travel would be too lonely. Every Christmas Eve our families gathered, and she accompanied us on the piano as we sang carol after carol. If our voices couldn’t reach the high notes, she’d modulate down a few keys to a more suitable pitch, making it seem effortless. I wanted to do that too.

When I was about nine, Mom signed me up for piano lessons with a raven-haired Englishwoman who belonged to our church. She insisted that I couldn’t progress without practicing, so the day before my weekly lesson I’d cram in a mad practice session. I didn’t get far. But I liked the music, and the blackcurrant candies she offered, and the Enid Blyton books in her daughter’s collection. At recitals, diligent students played more complex pieces that interested me. I discovered a classical music radio station, and at least once I attending an actual symphony concert, very exciting. My long-suffering piano teacher would be amazed to see the considerable influence she had on my inner musical tapestry.

Thanks to two excellent high school choir directors, I experienced the magic of individual voices singing together in harmony, fused into a unity of sound. With physical and intellectual discipline, we sang classical, religious, and contemporary choral music, creating something larger than ourselves, impossible to do alone. Outside of school, I listened endlessly with friends and sisters to pop songs on the radio. We sang along, memorized the tunes and lyrics, mocked the stupid ones, and danced to lively rhythms. Oh we danced! Mashed Potatoes, Hand Jive, Watusi, Frug, Twist, we did them all and more.

University years brought folk songs and hootenannies, The Summer of Love, and Vietnam War protests. I still can’t sing “We Shall Overcome” without choking up. The Beatles music expanded, matured, and changed everything. Musical genius Leonard Bernstein acknowledged their talent and pointed out to classical audiences the Fab Four’s surprising key and tempo changes, their range of musical emotion, and even some similarities with Bach and Schumann.

Various friends added color and depth to my tapestry. Karen M’s family home practically vibrated with huge, majestic sound when she put E. Power Biggs playing Bach organ music on the stereo and turned up the volume LOUD. Pat S loved the piano and played well, head bobbing and torso swaying as he lost himself in Bach’s Art of the Fugue. Pat P, always game for a musical adventure. Jackie C actually majored in Harpsichord Studies, which I hadn’t known was possible, before switching to Piano Performance. I’m particularly grateful to MX, who introduced me to a wide range of classical composers and pieces as we listened, really listened, to many recordings.

Over time, classical music, timeless and complex, has lodged deep in my heart. I’ve come to understand why Leonard Bernstein believed that music is really about emotion, passion, and humanity. It has enriched my life beyond measure.

For anyone interested in learning more about classical music, I recommend Bernstein’s excellent and easily accessible Young People’s Concerts, which feature lectures and music. I want to listen again myself. Presto!