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Tyson vs. Ramazzoti
Feb. 27th, 2006 | 12:47 pm
I’ve been schmaltzing out with Ms.Gera having temporarily abandoned more serious classical piano pieces for easier shit you’re more likely to hear at a piano bar—taste isn’t the question, post prepubescent adolescent rebellion is a more likely culprit..
Back when I was 8-10 years old and an easily manipulated punk, my instructors didn’t allow me to sacrilegiously dapper with popish diversions.
EVERY kid KNOWS that the top forty- via KC Cason or MTV is what’s worth learning about.
Now quasi 45, and more or less self disciplined and motivated (by default), hunting down the rythms, chords and melodies is a pleasure as is diverting from preestablished formats.
I indulge myself with the shmaltziest of the schmaltzy, sometimes repellent in their shmaltziness; ‘Sometimes when we touch- the honesty’s too much- and I have to close my eyes- and hide…’ If Paige, the middle aged mother’s choir coordinator hadn’t made us perform ABBA tunes I might have never awoken from my obedient artistic slumber.
HA! Soon I’ll be able to nausiate anyone I perform for, who hasn’t had the unfortunate experience in life of having musac pumped through an elevator shaft, dentist reception room or been put on hold in America.
My rebellion, sick as it is, has limits, however. I’ll NEVER in a zillion years or lifetimes teach myself to play ‘O sole mio’ which happens to have converted to Elvis’s “It’s Now or Never”. Ever since the San Remo music festival invited Mike Tyson to divulge his moral beliefs, dubbed Italo-American tunes give me indigestion. Unless they’re funny.
Back when I was 8-10 years old and an easily manipulated punk, my instructors didn’t allow me to sacrilegiously dapper with popish diversions.
EVERY kid KNOWS that the top forty- via KC Cason or MTV is what’s worth learning about.
Now quasi 45, and more or less self disciplined and motivated (by default), hunting down the rythms, chords and melodies is a pleasure as is diverting from preestablished formats.
I indulge myself with the shmaltziest of the schmaltzy, sometimes repellent in their shmaltziness; ‘Sometimes when we touch- the honesty’s too much- and I have to close my eyes- and hide…’ If Paige, the middle aged mother’s choir coordinator hadn’t made us perform ABBA tunes I might have never awoken from my obedient artistic slumber.
HA! Soon I’ll be able to nausiate anyone I perform for, who hasn’t had the unfortunate experience in life of having musac pumped through an elevator shaft, dentist reception room or been put on hold in America.
My rebellion, sick as it is, has limits, however. I’ll NEVER in a zillion years or lifetimes teach myself to play ‘O sole mio’ which happens to have converted to Elvis’s “It’s Now or Never”. Ever since the San Remo music festival invited Mike Tyson to divulge his moral beliefs, dubbed Italo-American tunes give me indigestion. Unless they’re funny.