Musically inclined

Whenever people learn that I play classical music on the piano, they automatically refer to a set of names.

I’ve been dubbed the “Promil kid,” “prodigy,” “next Mozart” (this shifted to Beethoven or Liszt when I reached my twenties), “Maestro,” or “manghaharana” (serenader). Such are the names that crop up as I strike the last resounding chord of a classical piece, followed by a flurry of applause, “bravo,” “galing naman” (how talented), “isa pa” (one more), and such other admiring chatter by listeners.

I’ve gotten used to the questions that people from different walks of life ask after a triumphant classical display. Businessmen are intrigued why I nurture a fondness for classical music even though it isn’t mainstream in the Philippine music industry. Elementary and high school teachers want to learn about my daily practice routine, how to read the cryptic jumble of notes in my classical pieces, and how fast my fingers can go. Then they ask shyly if I can teach them a simple piece, usually a nursery rhyme like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” or “Do Re Mi.”

Doctors tell me that my hands are large in proportion to my forearms, and that, in an alternative reality, I would’ve done well as a surgeon. Young adults ask me to play “Ang Kanta ng Basurero,” referring, of course, to “Fur Elise” by Beethoven, which is played as a shrill electronic tune by dump trucks whenever they shift to reverse gear or maneuver their bulky garbage containers. Young adults may also request popular OPM  by bands such as Rivermaya, Eraserheads, Parokya ni Edgar, MYMP, and Moonstar88. Parents ask me to assess the musical potential of their sleepy little toddler or grumpy youngster. Senior citizens have a ready playlist at hand which includes: “Somewhere in Time,” “No Other Love,” “Love Story,” and assorted Beatles songs. They usually describe these as “great music from a bygone era.”

I befriended the piano when I was nine years old. When I started my lessons we had no piano at home, so I drew the keys on a piece of cardboard and imagined myself playing on a real piano. It was the only way I could practice the pieces assigned to me back then. They were fun, simple pieces with endearing titles such as “When Elephants Dance,” “Alingawngaw,” and “The Swan.”

My foray into the classical music arena began with Bach’s “Minuet in G.” I was intimidated by the classical notation, which seemed like disjointed caterpillars following a linear path on a white page. Luckily, by that time my parents had bought a second-hand German piano. Through constant practice and discipline, I learned how to count the beats and give justice to time values. I grew accustomed to the weird sound of sharps and flats on the black keys. I gained total control of my fingers, thanks to finger-stretching scales and arpeggios. I became acquainted with Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, and other legendary musical composers by learning how to play their pieces. I had to discern miniscule classical notations, force my fingers into unorthodox positions, and repeat the same passages for hours on end before I could claim mastery of the classical masterpieces.

I feel a great sense of accomplishment every time I conquer previously hostile classical-music territory.  There were nifty little bonuses that accompanied my progress in playing pieces of high technical difficulty. For one thing, the names of the compositions took on a grandiose tone. One of Chopin’s staple concert pieces, for example, is “Polonaise in A-Flat Major Opus Fifty-three,” which is more popularly known as “Heroic Polonaise.” The original title is intimidating, and for good reason, too: It took me four months to master the entire piece.

“Polonaise” is a Polish term which pertains to a slow dance with a time measure similar to a waltz. It’s not the only polonaise in Chopin’s arsenal, however. There’s also “Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Opus Forty, Number One,” which is also known as “Military Polonaise.” It’s easier to play compared to “Heroic Polonaise,” but it’s still technically challenging.

If Chopin has polonaises, Beethoven has moonlight sonatas. A sonata is a three-part classical masterpiece; each part has a different tempo. Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata in C-Sharp Minor,” also known as “Quasi una Fantasia” (Almost a Fantasy) or simply “Moonlight Sonata, First Movement,” is slow and haunting. It’s a staple piece of every classical piano student. The second movement has a moderate tempo, and in contrast to the first, is uplifting and playful. The last movement is lightning and thunder complete with torrential rain. It has an insanely fast tempo and unsurpassed technical difficulty. I have yet to master the third movement, but I play the first few pages to impress an audience. Someday, I hope to play all three movements as though I were eating chocolate suman—each bite effortless and delightfully sweet.

When I entered high school, I embarked on the daunting task of playing popular pieces in a classical style. Finding notation for popular songs is easy enough, but converting their rather simple playing style into something grand and sweeping proved to be a time-consuming task. I found out that fast pieces such as Parokya ni Edgar’s “Mr. Suave” is easier to convert into the classical side as opposed to slow pieces such as Moonstar88’s “Torete.” Slow songs have a tendency to drag, and I easily ran out of arpeggio variations and other classical music tricks because most of the embellishments I know are designed for pieces with moderate to fast tempo.

Popular songs, however, pale in comparison to the kundiman, or Filipino love songs which were common during my grandparents’ time. The songs have a common theme—unrequited or tragic love. Ironically, kundiman have been used as effective serenade pieces. The persona is usually male, which makes the kundiman perfect for wooing. These songs are several notches above popular songs when it comes to technical difficulty. Kundiman have a similar chord progression style and tempo, but this doesn’t make them less challenging to play. Renowned Filipino composers such as Nicanor Abelardo and Francisco Santiago composed some of their kundiman like miniature Chopin polonaises because of the slow, booming passages, challenging notation, and chords that demand an occasional BANG using all 10 fingers.

Being musically inclined certainly has its benefits. When music is lacking at an event—be it a birthday, a Christmas party, or a wedding—I can liven things up with an impromptu performance (as long as there’s a piano or keyboard around, of course). When I’m relaxing at home, I jokingly tell my mother, “No need for the CD/DVD player this time, Nanay, I can play music better, and with dramatic effects, too!” Then I whip out a random classical or kundiman piece, sit straight on the piano chair, position my fingers, and play to my heart’s content.

Raymundo V. Lucero Jr., 27, is now doing his thesis for a master’s degree in creative writing at the University of the Philippines Diliman.