2073: Night and Day

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Night and Day.”

Have you ever had an experience that was amazing the first time, but terrible the second time around? Or vice versa? What made it different the second time?

I had to think pretty hard about this one, because by now I have a fairly firm grasp of what I do and don’t like in a lot of aspects of my life, and consequently I’m inclined to seek out things I know that I’ll enjoy while avoiding things that I know I’ll dislike. There is value, of course, in trying something outside your usual comfort zone, but while this can sometimes pleasantly surprise you, often this ends up just confirming or reinforcing your existing perceptions.

One thing did particularly come to mind, though. I don’t know that I’d describe it as “amazing” and “terrible” for the first and second times, and it’s more of an abstract thing rather than a specific incident, but it otherwise fits the description.

I’m talking about playing a new piece of music for the first time, specifically — for me, anyway — on the piano.

I’m good at sight-reading. This still surprises me a bit, as it was always the part of the graded piano examinations that I hated the most (with the possible exception of aural tests, which still seem somewhat sadistic) but I think I can trace my ability to pick things up quickly back to my habitual place on the piano for the school orchestra and various other ensembles, including a local choir. Certainly in the case of my school, I was (arguably) the best pianist there, so I was often recruited to play piano parts that would otherwise go unplayed; more often than not, then, I was expected to pick up a new piece of music and be able to immediately play it.

And for the most part I can do that pretty well. However, one thing I’ve noticed about this is that the first time I play a piece at sight, it always feels like it sounds a whole lot better than any subsequent time I try to play it without sitting down and doing some intensive practice on it.

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure if this is actually the case or not — it may well be that my first attempts to sight-read something are a horrendous noise, with subsequent attempts only marginally better owing to the fact I at least have a vague idea of what to expect — but it certainly feels that way. Playing a new piece of music for the first time is enjoyable and exciting, assuming it’s not one of those pieces that demoralises you from the get-go by being ridiculously difficult and completely unplayable without months of intensive, low-tempo practice. As such, I wonder if that “high”, for want of a better word, that you get from trying out a new piece for the first time makes that first attempt “feel” better than subsequent efforts, when you know you “should” be able to do better.

I guess the above description could probably apply to a whole lot of things in life, now that I think about it. Trying something for the first time gives you that satisfying buzz of “I’m doing something new!” but after that, assuming you stick with it, you settle into more of a routine, and mistakes start to become more frustrating. At a certain point, you have to make that difficult decision as to whether you’re going to continue working on the thing in question in detail, or set it aside and try something else.

It’s a tough call with no right answers; no-one likes to feel like they’re “wasting” their time!

1095: Czerny’s School of Repetitive Strain Injury

I did some actual honest-to-goodness piano practice today. It’s been some time since I practiced “properly” and I’ll admit that it wasn’t for a particularly long session today — I had work to do — but it’s a start at least.

I started learning the piano when I was about five years old and have been playing ever since. Since leaving university — and particularly since leaving the teaching profession — it’s fallen a little by the wayside, though, for various reasons. You never really “lose it” if you’ve been doing it for as long as I have, though — sometimes it just takes a little concerted effort to get yourself back to where you were before.

Why did I let it slide? Difficult to say, really. Poor self-discipline, mostly, but I also attribute it at least partly to feelings of anxiety and depression. If I get depressed, there’s really very little that I find myself actively wanting to do. Many is the time where I’ve spent hours at a time literally just staring at a wall feeling sorry for myself, even though I know how stupid that is, and that I’d probably feel better if I actually did something. As those who have suffered feelings like this will know, though, it’s not always that easy to get up and do something.

Music is a good outlet for such feelings, however, because by its very nature it is able to express a wide variety of complex concepts and emotions without the necessity for any words whatsoever. People more talented at improvisation than I am can just sit down at a keyboard and make something up to reflect the way they’re feeling — as a classically trained pianist first and foremost, however, I find this somewhat difficult and thus tend to rely mostly on music that has been composed for me.

This isn’t a lesser form of expression by any means — it may be slightly less creative, but you can certainly channel those emotions into a piece of music composed by someone else and put your own interpretation on it very easily. Particularly if the piece of music in question is from an era of music where the composers made a point of writing pieces that were particularly expressive and/or open to interpretation. It’s for this reason I’ve always gravitated more towards the Romantic and early 20th century periods than anything else — Baroque music still leaves me cold with its much stronger focus on technical expertise rather than expression, though some Classical period works for me.

Rather than jumping in to something I can’t quite play today, though, I decided to get out the books of technical exercises I got a while back but have underexplored somewhat. I can still run through all the scales back to back (though my accuracy when playing at speed needs some work) but sometimes (all right, most of the time) it’s nice to practice your skills with something that sounds a bit more like an actual piece of music.

I have a few books of technical exercises from composers with difficult to spell and pronounce names like Dohnanyi, Pischna and Czerny — it was the latter’s “Art of Finger Dexterity” books I went for today, starting from the first exercise in the first book. Its position at the front of the book doesn’t mean it’s a particularly “easy” one, mind; it involves rattling up and down scales at high speed in one hand while playing block chords with the other, then later shifting to parallel and contrary motion perpetually-moving semiquaver passages. It is exhausting, but oddly satisfying to play, particularly when you actually get it right. I was expecting my finger dexterity to be much worse than it was having had so much time off from a concerted effort to practice, but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself whipping up and down these passages without too much difficulty. Which is nice.

One of the things I’ve felt over the years with the piano is “I’ll never be able to play that” — either because it looks technically demanding, or it’s fast, or it’s in a difficult key, or whatever. With some persistent, consistent and regular exercise, though, I have faith I’ll be able to build my skills up somewhat and perhaps tackle some more adventurous pieces than I have done in the past.

Eventually, anyway. In the meantime, I shall continue to enjoy playing Final Fantasy and Persona themes for fun!

#oneaday, Day 220: Five Things I Learned From Gaming

Gamers spend a considerable proportion of their lives justifying their hobby. This is not the way Things Should Be, of course. No form of media or entertainment or hobby should force its enthusiasts to become apologists. But such is the way of things.

Gaming, to some, still has a reputation of being an adolescent male-dominated thing. And sure, there are plenty of male adolescents out there playing things. But the whole thing is so broad and diverse now that absolutely anyone can get involved on one level or another. And by getting involved with gaming, there are some valuable life lessons that can be learned. And I’m not talking about the old faithful, “hand-eye co-ordination”.

Patience is a virtue

If there is one thing I think that gaming has taught me above all else, it’s the fine art of patience. Specifically, I’m of the opinion that RPGs in particular have taught me this.

RPGs are all about delayed gratification. There’s always that next step to strive for, be it gaining another level, saving enough money to buy the Super Death Blade (only to discover it’s not as good as your current sword) or beating a difficult boss.

It’s not just that though. Games like Phoenix Wright with lengthy conversational sequences are reminders that it doesn’t have to be action, action, action all the time. Granted, this kind of thing doesn’t appeal to everyone, and there are people out there who skip every cutscene (and annoy the hell out of me, because I like cutscenes, unless I’m seeing it for the forty-seventh time) but it’s a Valid Lifestyle Choice for many gamers.

Whatever you may think of crap like FarmVille too, it’s obvious that in most cases, these people are displaying patience, too. Unless they’re the sort of person who actually spends money on playing those games, in which case they deserve to be fleeced out of every cent they pay to the Shinra Corporation… sorry, Zynga.

Perseverance is also a virtue

Commitment to completing a task is often one of the most difficult aspects of motivating oneself. It’s easy to get halfway through a project, feel like you’re not achieving anything and give up. Through the awesome experiences I’ve had through many games, I’ve learned that a difficult journey often leads to an amazing destination. Take Persona. Both Persona 3 and 4 are 90+ hours long. That’s a significant time investment. But the conclusions of both stories were so great that I was happy I’d spent that time playing.

Practice makes perfect

Both the epic Geometry Wars 2 battle the Squadron of Shame had upon this game’s first release, and the drunken Joe Danger night my friend Sam and I had a short while back are great examples of this. If at first you don’t succeed at something, try it again. And again. And again. And again. And… (repeat until you’re top of the leaderboards by a comfortable margin)

RPGs are again symbolic of this. The longer the characters play and do the same things, the better they get at them. Sure, in most cases levelling up doesn’t actually mean the player’s skills have necessarily got any better. But the characters have. Sad old nerds like myself can pretend that they’re levelling up when they get better at doing something.

Where am I?

I have an excellent sense of direction. I attribute this to two things: firstly, getting drunk a lot at university, finding myself at friends’ unfamiliar houses, and somehow always managing to get home without being killed or bumraped. And secondly, playing a lot of Wolfenstein 3D and Doom when I was younger. Wolfenstein didn’t have a map at all, and Doom‘s automap wasn’t particularly clear. As such, players quickly learn to find their way around by following visual cues and working out where their eventual target is.

To this day, whenever I visit a new city, I actually quite like to get lost for a while to get a feel for where everything is. Also, shoot Nazis.

Creative solutions

This sort of thing is particularly apparent amongst gamers of a certain age who grew up with adventure game logic. How else would I have figured out that I could fix a Sega Saturn controller using nothing but a screwdriver, a piece of toilet roll and a bottle of cheap vodka? Or that the appropriate way in which to remove the ludicrously-difficult-to-remove cover on the light in my bathroom was to use a stepladder and a teaspoon?

There’s an argument that watching The A-Team or MacGuyver could produce similar results. But I attribute my particular possession of this quality to adventure gaming.

So there you have it. Gaming is awesome.

I realise that by posting this I’m somewhat guilty of being one of the gaming apologists I mentioned at the beginning. But whaddayagunnado?