At first it was all fun and games, then we began. |
Tuesday evening, brother Patrick and I sat down to perform a lightly rehearsed piano concerto. Perhaps it was our lack of practice or maybe bunk instruments, but one thing I know without hesitation, it was terrible.
One major limitation was the pianos. I figured since mine had only four keys and his only seven it might simplify matters. You know, the old "your age plus three" rule of how many notes you should work with. I just don't know though.
The pianos were pretty and a combination between a xylophone and a harpsichord. Individual notes rang rich, but in concert they were something less than harmonious. The fact that his could be played with the keys or an optional plastic dog bone should have been a red flag for me, but it wasn't.
Within seconds of banging, clanging, and yes even chang-ing (not changing, mind you, CHANG-ing, it's an onomatopoeia) we grew frustrated with each other. We had no rhythm, no harmony, and no coordination. We stopped our own music to try to help each other out (as seen below) but I think by then it was already too late.
Within about two minutes we surrendered to popular demand and gave up. If it was just our parents there it would have been one thing, but it was our parents who are also reporters and/or photographers for news organizations like Glossy News and Perplexing Times (ever heard of 'em?).
As I age, my sense of journalistic responsibility sadly increases, and I'll be the first to admit that this recital was nothing less than horrendous. I can't concede that it was the worst ever, nor can I cite which two in world history might outrank it on the misery chart, but I'm confident there must be at least* a couple.
CDs, MP3s and music videos will not be forthcoming.
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