Nt1310 Unit 2 Written Assignment
In my youth, I hated music. I hated how other kids my age were out having fun while I stayed home on the piano bench. I hated the monotony of completing exercises every day on the piano: twelve major scales, and thirty-six minor scales, forty-eight arpeggios, and chord progressions in twelve keys for a grand total of 108 different permutations. After all, what was the point? This wasn’t going to land me a job anywhere. Little did I know that this was my future. It is October 2015 during halftime of a football game. The band director bores through the amalgamation of fellow band students then sits behind me on the edge of the wet bleachers. He speaks rapidly to me about the upcoming musical production and the necessity of a keyboard
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My only contribution to the pit on that day was an interpolation of dissonance which made me cringe as if I had scraped my nails on a chalkboard. Consequently, I resolved myself to catch up with the rest of the orchestra members to avoid making a fool out of myself again. I began to visit the practice rooms frequently: during free periods, lunches, after school, before and after rehearsals. In Practice Room C, I open the book “Keyboard 2” and peruse the sheet before playing. The page is titled “4A. Rain.” To my dismay, there is a lot of black on it. I begin. The tumultuous cascades of black ink line up and become chromatic scales that fit perfectly under my fingers. The hundreds of indiscernible dots staining the page start to reposition themselves into orderly, distinctive chords. Thankfully, the tedious drills I did in my youth expedited my learning of new repertoire. “By opening night, the pit had polished up its schtick. During the performance, an opinion had formed at the back of my mind: “This sounds amazing. I wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of my life.” This revelation led me to conclude that if you persevere through things you hate, the experience gained from doing that will build upon itself and
My only contribution to the pit on that day was an interpolation of dissonance which made me cringe as if I had scraped my nails on a chalkboard. Consequently, I resolved myself to catch up with the rest of the orchestra members to avoid making a fool out of myself again. I began to visit the practice rooms frequently: during free periods, lunches, after school, before and after rehearsals. In Practice Room C, I open the book “Keyboard 2” and peruse the sheet before playing. The page is titled “4A. Rain.” To my dismay, there is a lot of black on it. I begin. The tumultuous cascades of black ink line up and become chromatic scales that fit perfectly under my fingers. The hundreds of indiscernible dots staining the page start to reposition themselves into orderly, distinctive chords. Thankfully, the tedious drills I did in my youth expedited my learning of new repertoire. “By opening night, the pit had polished up its schtick. During the performance, an opinion had formed at the back of my mind: “This sounds amazing. I wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of my life.” This revelation led me to conclude that if you persevere through things you hate, the experience gained from doing that will build upon itself and