Image © Jose & MidJourney
I was raised with music, it was always there, a necessary thing. My dad always had the radio on, and my Mom would occasionally sing along. I remember long road trips in Africa, my Mom and Dad in the front, close to each other because the Vauxhall Victor station wagon had a long front seat, me in the back leaning over them, the 8-track playing music and the three of us enjoying and singing along. I understand that, in comparison to those whose parents were musicians, or those that from an early age became musicians, this does not necessarily qualify as ‘being raised with music’, but this was enough to instill in me a love for music that has been a constant in my life.
I started collecting vinyl in the 80’s, used all the trips abroad and money I saved to buy them, thew switched to CDs in the 90’s, then started going digital after that, but never moved without bringing with me both vinyl and CD collections. My parents paid for piano lessons in Mozambique, I must have been 12, didn’t work out (I remember the teacher using a wooden ruler on my knuckles). I tried again when I was 19 in Portugal, didn’t work out (I had to travel by bus 45m back & forth). Not so long ago, as an adult, I tried again in the US with Steve Million who became a friend, didn’t work. None of the reasons above serve as excuses, I didn’t have the willpower, the resilience and the discipline to learn piano, though I though this is what I wanted to learn.
My first rock n’ roll band experience was in high school in San Diego 1981–82, the second in Portugal 1986–89, both cases I was the lead singer. My latest music experience, since 2017, has been in a brass band/ school ensemble where I started in bass drum, played a little snare, and now have been playing a djembe. And in doing so, I discovered that what I really like is percussion, anything that is remotely rhythm and bass. The other day, went to a Mall I have been going for over 7 years and discovered a School of Rock that has probably been there all along, I walked in and asked if I could learn how to play the drums, I have just completed 10 classes, and can’t wait till Thursday to go again. Reflection number 1, sometimes it takes an entire lifetime for you to discover what you love doing.
I started out with Steven, a young man the same age as my son. Clearly a competent drummer, but as we know, that does not make someone a competent coach/ teacher. Steven in the beginning started handing me music sheets and started talking music notes, and I explained I can’t read music, wouldn’t see the sheets without my glasses. I asked him to play it, and I would understand and repeat, so he did. Since then, we have progressed, by simply listening and repeating I learned to play some songs, Come Together by the Beatles makes me particularly happy because of my love affair with the Beatles, and the respect I have for Ringo Starr. One of the songs he introduced became my hill, I have good hand dexterity, and my feet are good for dancing, but coordinating hands and feet so they do what I command is a whole different thing. But steven was patient, he broke it down, slowed it down, and found ways to progress from what I could do to conquer the hill that as certain times seemed unsurmountable.
The other day I had another young teacher, and this gentleman was a very good drummer and spent the entire class either showing off his skills and/or telling me to go back to the beginning and learn what singles, doubles, paradiddles were. It was a different class, I understood why he thought this was important, perhaps the right way to teach someone how to play the drums. But I missed the music, the trying and learning by doing that Steven has done with me, and that takes me to my reflection number 2, a good teacher recognizes how a student learns and is prepared to go there to help him progress.