We were seated in the recital hall, most everyone having assembled into groups so they could chat while we waited. When he walked out onto the stage toward the podium the hall instantly became silent, as all eyes were on the gray haired gentleman who was about to address us.

“Welcome to freshman orientation,” he started. “I’m Dean Hamilton, the head administrator here at the conservatory. If you have any problems during your time here, come to my office and I or one of my associates will help you find a solution.” He picked up the microphone and came around in front of the podium, finally coming to rest as he sat down on the edge of the stage.

“I’m not going to lie to you. The fact is, very few of you will become famous soloists. For every great musician who becomes famous, there are at least a hundred equally great ones who make a living in more or less anonymity. And for each one of them, there are a hundred who never make a dime as a musician, and wind up earning their living in another field entirely. This is the world you are all anxiously waiting to enter.” He paused for a moment to look around the hall at all the young faces staring up at him.

“I’m going to be blunt here. Most of you will wind up making a living in music teaching, playing in orchestras, singing in choruses, or any one of a myriad of other jobs. Some of you will leave here and go to work in the business world, and maybe…just maybe…a couple of you will go on to become famous virtuoso soloists. If you don’t like these odds as I’ve presented them to you, then I’d suggest marching right over to the registrar’s office and changing to another branch of the university.”

He then jumped down off the edge of the stage and took a few steps toward us, “But, if you came here because you have a burning desire to become the best musician you can be, period; then you’ve come to the right place.”

After turning off the microphone and setting it back down on the edge of the stage, he walked straight up the aisle looking at all the kids sitting there brimming with enthusiasm, and left the auditorium. We all sat there in silence for a couple of minutes before the cacophony of all the disparate conversations again rose from the seats to fill the air.

I should probably introduce myself. My name is Kyle Bronson, and I’m here to become a concert pianist, or at least that’s my goal. I’m also here because my parents couldn’t afford to pay for me to go to Julliard, which was my first choice of schools. Being attached to a large Midwestern state university, tuition plus room and board are less than half what they would have cost to study in New York, and while this school doesn’t have quite the pedigree of my first choice, the conservatory has been educating great musicians for about a hundred years. People who grew up taking piano lessons as kids might remember studying out of the John Thompson series of books? John Thompson had once been Dean of this conservatory.

Once we filed out of the recital hall all of us were taken downstairs to the practice rooms and told to line up for testing. Every student in this school is required to pass what they call a piano proficiency test, which consists of sight-reading, scales, and accompaniment skills. I was surprised just how many of those assembled were worried about passing the test. I mean, what’s the big deal? If you don’t pass it, you take a class every semester until you do. It’s as simple as that. Of course, maybe I’d have been a little more concerned myself if it weren’t for the fact that I already knew I could pass it without breaking a sweat.

When it was finally my turn to face the music, as it were, I went straight in and sat down at the piano. It turned out Dr. Anita Caroll, Piano Department Chair and head of my admissions jury the previous Spring, was giving the examination. “Kyle, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I remember your audition. You have a very feminine touch for a boy.”

What was I supposed to say to that? In the end I just shrugged.

“Why don’t you start with the sight-reading page in front of you?”

I whipped through it without so much as a hiccup.

“Now, F sharp harmonic minor scale, both hands, three octaves.”

Easily enough done. I was starting to think I would breeze through this for sure. Once done with that she placed another sheet in front of me that looked like a page out of what’s called a ‘fake book’, which basically has the melody line for songs with chord symbols printed above it.

“One more thing. Try improvising an accompaniment for this.”

I stumbled through it for about thirty seconds before I figured out what needed to be done. After playing through it a second time, it was sounding all right.

“A little weak, but nothing four semesters of Theory classes won’t cure,” she said as she smiled at some inner thought. “Since you’re a piano major I’ll pass you, but I’m going to recommend to your private teacher that this last bit could stand some attention as part of your studies.”

She marked my name as ‘passed’ on her roster and I was on my way. Next on the agenda was division meetings, which meant all the piano majors, string majors, woodwind majors, and so on got together with that division’s faculty to be assigned private teachers and schedule lesson times.

I started thinking there was something up when it came my turn and Dr. Caroll volunteered to take me. She just smiled, and we then scheduled two one hour sessions a week, which I made sure were in the late afternoons to make scheduling the rest of my classes easier.

After a visit to the student union cafeteria for our first experience with university food, it was time to sit down with the advisors to determine the rest of our class schedules. When it got to be my turn and there sat Dr. Caroll again, I was really becoming suspicious. She made sure I got all my requirements scheduled while still having plenty of time for practice and after a few computer keystrokes my class schedule was set and my first day as a college student was over.

Being a large urban school with little or no dorm space, the university had contract agreements with several apartment complexes close by, and I had been assigned a studio apartment about two blocks away from the Performing Arts Center. I found my way there and finished the unpacking I had begun that morning before heading out for my first day of orientation.

That task completed, I sat down with my digital piano, slipped on my headphones, and began practicing. I must have lost all track of time, because the next thing I knew it was well after midnight. I shut down the keyboard, crawled into bed, and was out before my head hit the pillow.

Day two of my college career was spent mostly waiting in line. First I waited in line at the bookstore to get my textbooks. Three hours and nearly $500 later I found myself in line again, this time at the cashier’s office to settle up my tuition bill for the semester. Another three plus hours later, the bank account my folks had set up for my school expenses was much lighter of funds, but I was officially ready for my first day of classes come Monday morning.

I spent most of the weekend with headphones on practicing Chopin, but I did take a break long enough to discover that my building had WiFi service, so I got my laptop set up on the network and surfed a little bit.

Monday morning started with Music Theory, then I had English and Political Science before my lunch break. After another encounter with the university’s cafeteria, I was off to choir practice before time for my first private lesson with Dr. Caroll.

I was sitting on the floor outside her teaching studio when the door opened and out came the professor. “Kyle, are you ready to get started?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said as I got up off the floor and entered her corner of the universe.

After I took a seat at the grand piano, which had been crammed into this tiny closet of an office, Dr. Caroll said, “Why don’t you just start by playing a little something to warm up?”

Realizing this was more instruction than request, I started in with one of my favorite short pieces, the Chopin E minor prelude.

Once through the piece, she said, “I can see I was right last week. You do have a lovely feminine touch to your playing. We’ll have to see if we can bring that out more and develop it.”

I just looked at her, unsure how to respond. I mean, I am a guy after all. Certainly not the most macho in the world, but I do at least have a Y chromosome. And being told that I play like a girl isn’t exactly something I’d be prone to take as a compliment.

We spent the next forty-five or fifty minutes running scale after scale as she tested my technical level. As we were wrapping up the lesson, she said, “As you may already know, my students are required to perform in at least one recital per month. We have midday concerts every day so everyone can meet this requirement, and I have you scheduled for your first appearance two weeks from today.

“Since this is somewhat short notice, I’m going to allow you to play something you already know. But since the program has to be turned in to the printers at least a week ahead of time, I’d like for you to think about your selection and let me know when you come back Thursday for your lesson. In the meantime, I’d like for you to work on Chopin’s Opus 10 C Major etude. Now shoo,” she said, laughing as she did so.
(Author’s note: etude (n.) Music A piece composed for the development of a specific point of technique. Etude (n.) Music A composition featuring a point of technique but performed because of its artistic merit.)

I grabbed my things and was out the door quickly, glad that I could play something I already knew for this first performance, and also that I’d been assigned to work on an etude which I’d already started practicing over the weekend.

After dinner at the cafeteria, I headed back home where I again spent most of the evening deep in headphone practice. By the time I turned in, I had pretty much memorized the assigned etude and was fairly sure of what I wanted to play on the recital. When I did turn in, I was again out very quickly.

Thursday afternoon I was sitting at the piano in Dr. Caroll’s office having just finished playing through the assigned etude when she said, “Feminine, but powerful. Very nice.”

“Excuse me ma’am, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean when you say I play with a feminine touch?”

She looked me in the eye for a moment before responding, “I believe that the ultimate piano performance is completely androgynous, featuring both feminine and masculine attributes. Some people might choose to think of them as grace and power, if you’re more comfortable with those terms.

“When I say you have a feminine touch I mean that you play with a grace and gentleness that is rare in male students. Most men think that all they need is power to be great pianists, but the truly great ones combine that power with grace and beauty.”

“So you’re saying this is a good thing?”

“Definitely. Now, have you given any thought to what you’d like to play on the recital?”

I sat there pretending to think, even though I entered the room knowing exactly what I was going to say. “The Chopin Opus 41 Mazurkas, I think,” I stated.

“Good choice. I’ll get that on the program then. How long has it been since you played them last?”

“Maybe a month.”

“Play them for me now please.” While she included a please, there was no question what she meant, so I played. I breezed through the first one, made one error in the second, and was halfway through the third Mazurka when Dr. Caroll stopped me.

“You played the first brilliantly, and did a fine job on the second. But, the third one? What happened?”

“What do you mean ma’am?”

“The moment you started the third Mazurka, the feminine aspect was nearly gone from your playing. All I could hear was the masculine,” she said, once again losing me completely.

I stared at her for a moment before something came to me. I closed my eyes to focus, then began playing the third Mazurka again. I could hear the difference immediately, and was thrilled with the sounds emanating from the piano. Once the third was finished, I went directly into the fourth Mazurka without pausing more than a breath. When the fourth and final piece was finished, I looked up at Dr. Caroll for the first time since I had started playing again. The pleased look on her face told me everything I needed to know.

“What did you think about?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Nothing is embarrassing between a teacher and student.” As she said it, I couldn’t suppress the thought that nothing could be further from the truth.

“I, um, pictured myself as a girl playing.”

“Well, it worked. That’s by far the best you’ve ever played. Good work.”

Feeling embarrassed despite her encouragement I said, “Thank you”

“Now for next week, I’d like you to work on the second etude in A minor. Also, I think you should try to figure out a way to maintain that same approach to playing that gave such good results today. I’ll see you at the noon recital tomorrow, and also on Monday.”

I once again gathered up my things and was out the door. All the way back to my apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking about that ‘assignment’. It was a little strange picturing yourself as a girl and I had no idea how to go about keeping that picture in my mind for as long as I would need it to get through most concert pieces.

Here are some addresses to recordings of the pieces mentioned in this chapter:

Chopin Prelude No. 4 in E minor, Opus 28
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-28-4-stahlb...

Chopin Etude in C Major, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-1-stahlb...

Chopin Etude in A minor, Opus 10
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-10-2-stahlb...

Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 1 in C# minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-1-breeme...

Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 2 in E minor
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-2-breeme...

Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 3 in B Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-3-breeme...

Chopin 4 Mazurkas, Opus 41, No. 4 in Ab Major
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/chopin-41-4-breeme...

Notes: