88 keys by a zebra
Oct. 9th, 2009 08:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slowfoxIn just about any given situation, you can usually rely on me to sequester myself into the metaphorical corner of the room, trying to avoid intruding on any person(s) present. It's a pretty much universal rule that I've lived by for just about as long as I can remember.
UNLESS you've got a piano...
So, Mali and I were out for walk three yesterday evening, ambling down Chants when we espied a couple manhandling a piano down the road, just outside Barclays Bank, by the zebra crossing.
This brought back similar memories from waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back when I was at Uni in York, and was helping German!Tom transport a piano from his rented house to another muso's place (actually, said muso was supposed to be me, but a passer by happened to profess interest in the instrument as we were wheeling it past their front door, uphill, and given that we still had over a mile to lug this thing if it were to make it all the way to The House*, we unanimously agreed that the less distance we had to shift the beast, the better).
So, naturally, I stopped to enquire how things were going of the couple. The girly explained that one of the castors had broken on the pavement, so things had ground to a halt (quite literally, indeed) whilst they summoned reinforcements. The guy (older than her, younger than me) was mostly silent.
Anyway, I started asking whether she played etc, and flipped up the lid of the piano to throw a few chord shapes around as we talked music and instruments and scales and stuff. All the time, remember, with Mali's lead in my left hand, right by the road.
Shameless, I know, but it was a piano, I couldn't ignore it!
After a while, Mali raised up on his hindlegs to place his paws on the keys, attempting some kind of polyrhythmic counterpoint to my EbMaj7 riff; 'twas best characterised, perhaps, as avant garde.
So at that point we bid our farewells and padded off up Westbourne, leaving girly and her beau standing by their stranded piano. It wasn't there this morning, so I'm assuming onward progress was eventually resumed.
* The House - proper noun, referring to a three storey Victorian terrace in York that I shared with fellow students for three years (2nd year, 3rd year, year after graduation). We referred to ourselves, collectively, as 'The House', as well - so it was a multi-purpose designator. Oh, we had cats, too - Djinn and Duffy. The House was something special
UNLESS you've got a piano...
So, Mali and I were out for walk three yesterday evening, ambling down Chants when we espied a couple manhandling a piano down the road, just outside Barclays Bank, by the zebra crossing.
This brought back similar memories from waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back when I was at Uni in York, and was helping German!Tom transport a piano from his rented house to another muso's place (actually, said muso was supposed to be me, but a passer by happened to profess interest in the instrument as we were wheeling it past their front door, uphill, and given that we still had over a mile to lug this thing if it were to make it all the way to The House*, we unanimously agreed that the less distance we had to shift the beast, the better).
So, naturally, I stopped to enquire how things were going of the couple. The girly explained that one of the castors had broken on the pavement, so things had ground to a halt (quite literally, indeed) whilst they summoned reinforcements. The guy (older than her, younger than me) was mostly silent.
Anyway, I started asking whether she played etc, and flipped up the lid of the piano to throw a few chord shapes around as we talked music and instruments and scales and stuff. All the time, remember, with Mali's lead in my left hand, right by the road.
Shameless, I know, but it was a piano, I couldn't ignore it!
After a while, Mali raised up on his hindlegs to place his paws on the keys, attempting some kind of polyrhythmic counterpoint to my EbMaj7 riff; 'twas best characterised, perhaps, as avant garde.
So at that point we bid our farewells and padded off up Westbourne, leaving girly and her beau standing by their stranded piano. It wasn't there this morning, so I'm assuming onward progress was eventually resumed.
* The House - proper noun, referring to a three storey Victorian terrace in York that I shared with fellow students for three years (2nd year, 3rd year, year after graduation). We referred to ourselves, collectively, as 'The House', as well - so it was a multi-purpose designator. Oh, we had cats, too - Djinn and Duffy. The House was something special
no subject
Date: 2009-10-10 08:25 pm (UTC)Very, very much so... there are other things higher up the Priority List, but yes, Clavinovas are much with the awesome, and do want.