Words and Images by Octavia Graham
Header Image by Elijah M Henderson
The soft, or sometimes not-so-soft, lull of music accompanies each and every memory I hold close. Every essential encounter and every experience. From the CDÔÇÖs spinning around my stereo at night to the slight sound of lessons taking place downstairs. The gigs of parents and friends of parents or busking in the street. Music has formed the very essence of how I understand the world, and myself.
I canÔÇÖt quite pin down the moment I first fell in love with an instrument, I might argue it wasnÔÇÖt a realisation at all. Growing up surrounded by musicians, there never seemed the question of whether or not I could learn, and I never grasped a reason why I shouldnÔÇÖt. I mean why wouldnÔÇÖt I? Music has always been the constant, steady guiding light ÔÇô when everything was turning upside down there was always music. It always seems to connect everything, every time anything would fall apart, music remained unbroken.┬á
As long as I remember there has been an upright piano and IÔÇÖm sure from the moment I could climb a chair I was creating a racket, hitting as many keys as I could. Not a favourite habit for the neighbours, IÔÇÖm sure. It wasnÔÇÖt long until a childhood rule was made ÔÇô if we should play the piano, we should play something which sounded nice, right along with eating your 5-a-day. So, my brother and I learnt the very simple Harry Potter and Scooby Doo.┬á My mum put down colour-coded stickers on the keys (to which I would later learn the names), and we would spend our time playing one-finger theme tunes. Now IÔÇÖm not entirely sure of the timeline, but we used to join my mum at work for Saturday Morning Music School, where I encountered more piano with the teacher ÔÇÿMr Davey Jones LockerÔÇÖ (the name was too similar to Pirates of the Caribbean). Now I canÔÇÖt exactly say I had fallen in love with a particular instrument at this point, we were exposed to a few, and I remember liking all of them. But there was something different about the piano for me, so much so that my family gifted me my keyboard (still my keyboard to this day) one Christmas. Still one of my favourite memories and favourite things. With a headphone jack and volume control, I was free to experiment.
So, did I become a child prodigy? Being introduced to music by the time I was five? No, not really. In terms of practising – the recording button on the keyboard was quite convenient. I was maybe a bit too preoccupied climbing trees to learn Chopin, and music was always presented as a choice, not a requirement. By my gratification it was offered in a way where I found my love for music; I wasnÔÇÖt pushed into it. But I did start writing songs pretty fast. Instead of being a music theory technical whizz, I was sticking blue tack down on my keyboard to remember my first little composition. At first, I never found it massively impressive that I wrote my own piece, it was just the standard. I had been humming my own melodies at the age of four and both my parents were songwriters, so it seemed as natural as writing my name at the end of a birthday card. And I never played to be impressive, my relationship with music has never been to show off or prove to be talented. For the most part, its role has been to channel difficult emotions and to heal mental wounds, the calming essence of filtering feelings through different scales and dynamics. Creating a combination of notes to convey and relate to a certain hurt, or delight. I think thatÔÇÖs what attracts me to playing the most. It seems no matter what is happening around me, music will always be there, will always be my crutch. But over time, the more I perform, and the more people comment on my own music, I wonder if maybe I should be a little impressed ÔÇô or just value the access to music as self-expression. I didnÔÇÖt understand how precious playing was or truly appreciate instruments until I was away from them. With no piano, I realised just how much it impacted my day-to-day.┬á
In short, I would never be able to go a day without any sort of music. Whether it’s playing or listening, it is part of the structure of my world. Without easy access to a piano, I began to value the time when there was one, improving more than I had before. I picked up guitar properly and learnt the theory, so I could always have a portable writing tool. I could never be away from instruments, so I have attempted to make it never so. Then on top of that, I have chosen ways for music to enter every part of my world. From modules and old subject choices to workshops, performing as Azzura and running Live Music Society. ItÔÇÖs the business, itÔÇÖs the learning, itÔÇÖs the pleasure and the passion. The best part is, itÔÇÖs never too late to learn.
Edited by Rubie Barker
