LATE-NIGHT AMNESIA

“Let’s be honest,” must have said my face, “I just played as though I were recovering from a bout of amnesia.”

We’re supposed to smile and enjoy a barn dance from behind our instruments - masters of the craft, confident enough to wave with one hand and kick out a killer solo with the other, making everyone feel like we’re all there to have a great time. Well, maybe not a ‘killer solo’ at a barn dance, but you know what I mean. We’re not supposed to look puzzled or stressed.

We’re definitely not supposed to play in different keys to each other - I did that a few times tonight. I just lost concentration while trying to appear cool. I tried to bluff my way through it. I didn’t get away with it.

Thankfully, I rescued it in the waltz. That sounded awesome at least.

I’ve realised that I play much more by feeling than by theory. If it feels like a B minor, I’ll sweep through a B minor even when the music says D. They’re sort of the same, I quickly reason, and just do it. Maybe on Sundays they are close enough, but not always (I’ve confused Rory more than once), and I’m sure there are times when nobody tells me what I did.

I wonder whether it’s possible to get to a point where you all ‘feel’ the same changes and you all go with it. It seems like a poor substitution for rehearsal and arrangement, but if it could be reached, it would be an awesome thing.

Anyway, I packed up my things and headed home.

I seem to always feel a kind of late-night-sadness after these things; not because it’s over and I don’t want to stop playing. I look forward to my bed as much as anyone else. I think it’s more to do with my atmosphere, and probably my exhaustion at having to drive an hour home through the night-rain with only the radio for company. And often the feeling that I played as though I only just remembered what a piano is.

I suppose the good bit is that I’ll probably forget all about this feeling before the next time.