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Meditating with drums and piano scales
By Adam Goldstein
goldstea@mscd.edu

As a kid, I was never any good at sports.

I preferred to spend my after-school hours listening to my parents’ vinyl or cassettes, poring over the liner notes and imagining myself as the front man for Blind Faith, Crazy Horse or Led Zeppelin.

My stint on a community soccer team was laughable and brief – I didn’t last a full season, and I never bothered to claim the trophy that was the perfunctory, participatory prize for every member of the team, no matter how uncoordinated.

Happily, my enlightened parents recognized my innate interests, and after I failed at soccer, they decided to enlist me in an extracurricular activity that would prove more durable.

I was 14 when I started taking guitar lessons, and I immediately warmed to the discipline of learning an instrument. I dutifully memorized the chords, imitated the licks and played along to my favorite records. Every week, it was as if I had an hour’s worth of formal meditation time, studying tablature and strumming along with Hendrix, Zappa and Frusciante, among others.

When I stopped attending lessons at the age of 18, I had gained more than the ability to play guitar. I had gleaned a tactile tool for self-expression. No matter where I traveled or lived for the next nine years, I always had a guitar strapped to my back. In foreign climes, six strings were my ultimate communicator. In new cities, familiar pop tunes were my guaranteed icebreakers. At home in Denver, I wrote songs and played coffee-shop gigs. The four years of lessons had given me an invaluable outlet for creativity.

Recently, I decided to sign up for piano and drum lessons, ultimately hoping to gain proficiency in the instruments and to round myself out as a musician. My nostalgia and inspiration melded, bringing me to the same neighborhood music school where I’d spent so many hours growing up.

After a little more than a month studying both instruments, I find that I listen to all kinds of music in a deeper way. I drill myself daily on piano scales and drum beats, incorporating the melodic and rhythmic precepts I’ve applied so long to the strings and expanding them to new contexts. The genius of familiar musicians from Debussy to Buddy Rich is suddenly more vivid. My formal meditation sessions have returned, and with the aid of devoted, talented instructors, I find myself looking at creative expression in new, expanded ways. Suddenly, I find myself forming piano and drum lines for songs I’d written on the guitar.

Last month, as I walked out of my second drum lesson, I felt the same mixture of surging excitement and innate creativity that had marked my Wednesday afternoons as an adolescent.

I ran into my old guitar teacher in the hall, and I told him I was tackling two new instruments.

“That’s the great thing about music,” he said. “You never stop learning.”

As I tapped my legs rhythmically with two drumsticks, I had to agree. I’ve found a new way to appreciate and create music.

And I’m still a horrible soccer player.