Sounds of Water
More musings about music
Embed audio: Unedited, 2 minutes and 33 seconds of sounds of water.
—
I played an hour of piano today.
Half of the time I flipped through a classical book of sheet music I had borrowed from my local library. It’s spiral-bound, and despite being clearly well loved, it’s in pretty decent condition. The book contained the best hits of piano, from Beethoven to Scott Joplin.
I’d play a page or two of one piece, and then move on to the next. I made mental notes of the ones I liked best, wanting and intending to return to them.
Wow, this is beautiful. I said out loud.
A small handful of times, I let myself get carried away by the momentum of the pages I’d played, and ride into the next wave with whatever energy I carried with me in the moment.
Improv, if you will.
I’d improv for 5 minutes or so, maybe 10 or 15 if I get reallllly carried away, and then go back to flipping through the book.
—
I’m afraid to say that I like playing improv on the piano, because I think that might give you the impression that I’m good at it.
I don’t think I’m particularly good at it.
I mean, I don’t think I’m particularly bad at it, either.
Honestly, I don’t think about music in the good ↔ bad spectrum at all.
We might each have preferences for the keys, tempo, rhythm, texture, timbre, and variability in music, but music does not exist to please. Music exists to express.
Stories of pain, hope, and love.
Feelings of rage, despair, and contentment.
Sugar.
Laying down after a particularly exhausting day.
Spice.
A rush, a glance, a look in somebody’s eyes.
And everything nice.
Raindrops on my forehead, and wind in my hair.
—
When my fingers hit the keys today, I looked out the windows at my backyard.
And it finally clicked.
Water.
Beach side waves.
Undercurrents.
Ponds.
Fountains.
Waterfalls.
A rainy April Sunday afternoon in 2026.
Over and over, I tell stories about bodies of water.
