#suzuki violin teachers

[castle-dominion]

I mean hot young music teacher doing lessons in your bedroom? It is totally valid for Rick to be worried. Sure he overstepped his bounds but it is always good to vet your teachers.

[uhzuku]

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑! | 𝐒. 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: tell me that you want me, that's the shit i always hear!

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: my hero academia | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aizawa shouta/m!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 4.00k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: t4t, transmasc aizawa, transmasc reader, switch aizawa, switch reader, daddy kink, reader and aizawa both still have pussies, age gap ( aizawa is 30 & reader is in their early 20s ), use of the word cunt a couple times?? once at least, ✨guyliner✨, public sex ( in a changing room ), BUSH! PUBES! DA WHOLE JUNGLE!, reader is a fucking freak for aizawa ngl, t-dick haver aizawa ( moans ), clits referred to as cocks ( bc yum ), scissoring, grinding, fingering, blowjobs, vibrators.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: i have no willpower when it comes to this man, so happy pride, fuckers. | 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃! — @suyacho @p-ersus @herohibiscus @cathybarn @suzuki-violin-school @choerry-picking @fyodior @satorusdivinity .

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

Tick, tick, tick, tick. 

The large clock hanging on the far wall of the fancy boutique you and your boyfriend were in echoes loudly in your ears. On your lap in front of you is a small spread of paperwork, tests you were helping him grade in between trying on new clothes  for a get-together with the other teachers that was only a couple days away. You’d already decided on a dark green sweater with a pair of dark brown pants and a matching winter jacket, but Shouta had been indecisive; he quite honestly didn’t want to go to the little event at all, but after both consistent whining from his two friends and you adding in how happy it would make them he’d eventually sighed and agreed. 

“This should be fine for the thing Nem’s throwing, right?” Comes his voice from the changing room as he flicks open the lock, and you can hear the discomfort in his voice — not from the clothes, as he’d picked those out himself with only a little input from you on the pants, but from how long today had gone on. He’d been indecisive all afternoon, uncommonly more self-conscious than usual, and was getting tired — and if you were completely honest you weren’t far behind him; it had been a long day of shopping, and you could only thank your foresight to order two new pairs of comfortable dress shoes ahead of time so the trip wouldn’t be drawn out even further. Were they really needed? No, you both had a pair at home — but why not go all out? At the very least it would make Nemuri and Hizashi happy, which was all you and Shouta ever really wanted.  

You glance up from marking Ashido’s frankly confusing essay and are startled by the large lump that settles itself comfortably in your throat. Your partner is standing there in the doorway, looking as awkward as he clearly feels, but by God his hair is pulled back in a messy bun and the black turtleneck he’d picked clings to him oh-so-well. The grey slacks you’d helped him pick out fit just as perfectly as you’d known they would, and you have to make the conscious decision to swallow the drool that had began pooling in your mouth. 

“Well?” he asks, trying and failing to hide the soft nervous edge in his voice, and you blink a few times to clear your head before nodding. This wasn’t the time to want to drop to your knees, you had to make sure he felt comfortable. 

“Oh, absolutely. Those’re the ones, if you like ‘em as much as I do. Those’re it,” you ramble, your eyes drinking him in greedily as he sends you the tiniest of fond smiles. “Get back in there ‘nd take your clothes off and we might be able to pick up food from your favorite place on the way home.” 

That’s seemingly more than enough incentive for him and, with a blatantly relieved heavy exhale, he retreats back into the changing room, which almost immediately is filled with the sound of cloth ruffling as he changes back into the dark jeans and loose navy sweater he’d come shopping in. You sit there idly, your pen tapping against your lip, before you groan and shove all of the first year class’s tests into the folder Shouta had brought them in and rush over to the door. 

You knock hard and fast, startling him judging by the slightly surprised grunt that you hear from inside, and upon Shouta opening the door a little with his hair ever so slightly messier from pulling on the shirt he’d come in you force yourself inside, locking the door behind you. His eyes are wide and startled as he takes you in, and it would almost be funny if you weren’t so god-forsakenly horny for him right now. You’d not expected that the sight of him all dressed up would get you this fucking hard and wanting, but really that was on you; your boyfriend was sexy as hell in nothing but a stained t-shirt and boxers with a line of dried drool still on his face from a deep, well-enjoyed sleep and you’d be raring to go just from the sight of him ( in any setting, really ), so you should’ve known that your paper-thin willpower would crumble and you’d pin him in the changing room like you were currently. 

“What the fuck-?” He starts, surprised as you corrall him back against one of the walls, far too focused on the way you had straddled and were subtly grinding on the thigh he’d unconsciously stuck between your legs as he’d backed up.

“Need you — take your fucking pants back off,” you whisper pleasingly, nipping at his stubbled jaw and tugging at his belt loops insistently. His rough hands find yours and squeeze, and you can hear the way his breathing picks up a little as he gets into it. 

“What?!” he asks, wide-eyed in alarm as he glances back at the locked changing room door. It may be locked, but the two of you were in public — you could be caught at any fucking second, and you could be arrested. Heat pools in his lower stomach at the thought, and for a brief moment, Shouta’s brain stutters as he begins considering what he’d just learned about himself. 

Fuck. He likes it. 

“Pants off, now!” you repeat ever-so-grumpily while he has this little revelation, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. You don’t miss the way his dark eyes follow it without missing a beat as he raises an eyebrow, his own tongue flicking out to mirror your movement. 

“Why?”

“Gotta suck your fuckin’ cock babe,” you groan, grinding low and hard against his knee. Your own hard cock is pinned perfectly between your crotch and his thigh, and you moan lowly into the empty air as a familiar twinge twists through your belly. “Need it in my mouth, please.”

His hands fumble with the buttons and zipper of his jeans for a moment before pushing them down to pool around his muscled thighs, and a soft whine bubbles up in your throat at the sight of him. He’s hard, like you knew he would be, and you moan at the very thought of getting to taste him, dropping to your knees and yanking his jeans off the rest of the way before throwing one of his legs over your shoulder. If anyone were to walk in they’d see all of him, and that just wasn’t allowed — so obviously taking him into your mouth to potentially save his modesty was the only correct course of action! You were so thoughtful.

“Stay still,” you grunt, biting at his inner thigh before licking up from his taint all the way to his swollen cock. You don’t miss the way his thighs quiver around your head, or the way his own head falls back against the wall with a slightly harsh thud as he bites his fist to keep from whimpering — which just wouldn’t do at all.

One of your hands spreads out against his soft stomach, slowly sliding down along the trail of hair that made you drool every time all the way into the thick bush of pubes surrounding his cock. He shifts against the wall, looking down at you with his brow furrowed while throwing one arm back against said wall with his own free hand splayed flat as if it would steady him when he knows that it wouldn’t once you really got your mouth on him — and it didn’t. When you take him all the way into your mouth a sharp cry is muffled only by his fist and the urge to buck up into you is almost impossible to fight off, but you were already chiding him for moving against the wall. 

“I said be still,” you growl around your mouthful, ghosting your teeth ever so gently ( torturously ) along the length of his cock as you pull off it for a brief moment before taking him back in your mouth all over again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” he whispers into where he was biting his hand, tiny tears springing up in his eyes as you drop him from your mouth all over again only to replace your tongue with fingers slicked from your own juices — and hems not much better. He’s absolutely dripping, his slickness soaking his cunt and running down his inner thighs; as you jerk his aching cock with one hand you lap it all up greedily, looking up at him through your thick lashes and grinning as you bite him again. The leg you had thrown over your shoulder pulls you closer, holding you tight against him as you bury your tongue in his entrance and have a taste from the source, and you laugh like the bastard you are when a soft wail escapes his mouth and the way his teeth dig into his palm. 

“Yeah, that’s it baby, just like that,” you croon cruelly as he gets closer and closer to coming in a changing room of all places. “It’s okay, you can come for me, you have permission…”

A sharp whine is the only response you get, and you just chuckle again and swap places with your fingers, taking him back into your mouth while gently crooking first your middle finger then your index inside him, your other hand carefully lifting him so his other leg also is thrown over your shoulder, leaving him bent in half and pressed against the wall while you suck him off. 

He unclenches his teeth from around his palm and slaps it against the back of your head, curling his fingers in your hair and tugging as you curl your fingers against his sweet spot and lap cruelly at his cock and slit. “God, please-!” he moans pleasingly, and you pull off of him and laugh. 

“There’s no God here, sweet boy,” you murmur mockingly, eyes glittering as you watch him begin to fall apart. “There’s only me and the fingers I’ve shoved up your greedy cunt.”

“Fuck!” he gasps, and bucks up into your mouth with one of his hands clamped over his mouth as his eyes flutter and roll back in his head as you work him over. His cunt clenches around you, milking your fingers greedily, and shaky moans fall from between his fingers like musical notes from an instrument. You don’t let up, sucking his cock and fingering him through his orgasm as he moans and cries into his palm. At some point while you’d been teasing him tears had sprung up in his eyes and had now started running down his cheeks — not much, just three little drops, but they were a sign of a job well done, and as you helped him down from your shoulders onto shaky legs and sat back on your calves with a dirty grin, he glares at you. 

“Fuck you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, knees shaking ever so slightly, and you just gather the juices he’d left on your lips and chin with your thumb before sucking it clean, never breaking eye contact with him. You knew he’d enjoyed himself and that he was just a little embarrassed, and you weren’t offended in the slightest. After all, between getting cursed at and getting to hear the way he’d moaned so prettily for you, it was a fair exchange in your opinion. 

“What can I say? I missed lunch,” you purr, standing then pulling him down to your height to kiss him slow and deep. He moans softly into your mouth, melting into your touch like always until you reluctantly pull away, picking up the pants and shirt. 

“I should get dressed,” he mutters, and you nod with a small grin. 

“Yeah, you should,” you agree, throwing the clothes over one arm. “I’ll collect all the paperwork for your class and meet you by the register. I promised you your favorite takeout, and after that performance, you’re definitely getting it.”

You don’t have to look at him to know how hot his cheeks are burning from embarrassment, and you fight off the urge to snicker when he hisses a strained, “I hate you!” your way. 

“Didn’t sound that way a couple minutes ago!” you respond in a sing-song voice, gently closing. the door and doing exactly as you’d said you would. a minute or so after the transaction goes through, Shouta makes his appearance from the back, walking into view on still-shaky legs. He shoots you a half-hearted glare, but still sidles up to you and grabs at your hand. 

“Food now,” he grunts quietly, “Then home.” You nod. 

“Yeah, babe, food and then home.”

“Don’t forget that we have the thing Nem’s hosting tonight, hun,” you call over your shoulder without tearing your eyes from the mirror, ever so carefully drawing a line of eyeliner on your top eyelid. A groan, muffled by a pillow, is the initial response you get and you fight hard to not laugh and jostle yourself. 

“You told me this morning, then texted at lunch,” comes a voice just as muffled as the groan you’d gotten, Shouta’s voice filled with such bother that you have to take away the eyeliner stick before you either stab yourself or make it look like you were wearing face paint. Instead of risking it again, you quickly swipe some onto your bottom lid then begin to smudge it out, smiling when he starts the complaining you knew was coming. “Do we really have to go? Nemuri and Hizashi won’t be surprised if we don’t, they know we don’t like going out. We could skip it.”

“We could, yeah,” you say softly, and you practically hear his ears metaphorically perk up before you crush his hopes and dreams when you say, “But we are going. We promised her, after all.”

“Why?!” He whines, face-planting back into the pillow, and you laugh for real this time, turning and looking at him with a grin while blowing some hair out of your eyes. One of your favorite parts of dating Shouta was being trusted with the hidden parts of him, the parts where he allowed himself to be whiny and greedy instead of a grump who acted like he was unshakeable. Honestly, maybe those damn kids of his were also helping him loosen up some ( the first class he’d kept all twenty of and even added one to! apparently miracles can happen! ), and you considered it a good sign. 

“Because we’re such good friends,” you say through a smile, crossing your arms. He pulls up from the pillow to throw a half-hearted, meaningless glare your way, only for his eyes to widen a little. You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your concern as you watch how he watches you, and you’re about to ask if everything is alright when you notice just how wide his pupils have blown and suddenly quiver in the knees ever so slightly. 

That tiny bit of an opening is all it takes, and before you know it your boyfriend’s flipped off the couch and is stalking towards you, looking wholly like a god to worship ( which you would ). His hands, big and rough and strong, grab at your hips with one while the other grips your chin and tilts your face up seconds before locking lips with you in a kiss that has your head spinning. 

“Bed, now,” he murmurs into your mouth, his tongue arcing across yours moments before he bites at your bottom lip. He keeps kissing you, leading you towards the bedroom while tugging off his clothes and yours in return. 

“Shouta, baby, we’ll be late-!” you whimper, and he scoffs, yanking you into the bedroom.

“Who fuckin’ cares?” he grunts noncommittally, kicking his underwear away and tugging at your own. “Nem’ll be happy just to see us show up at all, she won’t give a damn if we’re late.”

Knowing he was right and that you couldn’t really argue with that ( And did you even want to? Hell no. ) you just let him manhandle you onto your back on the bed, tilting your head to the side so he can bite and kiss his way across your neck in the way you both like. 

You moan softly as he sucks a love bite into the side of your jaw where it just met your neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair only for him to grab both of your wrists in one hand and slam them onto the mattress above your head. One of his knees nestles itself between your legs and begins to grind against your dick, and you groan as a familiar heat makes itself known in your belly. 

“F-Fuck, Shouta, please-!” you moan, hooking a leg behind his knee to stabilize yourself as you grind down on his knee while still on your back. He laughs and takes his knee away, and you curse under your breath as he climbs onto the bed and laces his legs around yours together before yanking hard enough that your crotches slam together. In your mind you praise anyone listening for your boyfriend’s thick thighs, your nails digging into his skin as he starts rolling his hips against yours while digging around in the drawer of his nightstand for lube. 

After a minute or so he finds it and, not even bothering to stop grinding, squeezes a fair amount between the two of you. As intended, each roll of your hips becomes smoother and easier, and for a moment the two of you do nothing but pant and moan as your dicks and cunts grind together. Words aren’t easy, and you get to watch with greedy eyes and a drool-filled mouth as Shouta’s head falls back, his mouth open as he moans for you. His fingers on one hand clench at the sheets and blankets while the other reaches out for you, and you lock fingers with him and squeeze while the two of you grind. With every deep roll of your hips, Shouta’s cock dips inside for the briefest second before slowly grinding up your slit and rolling over your own smaller cock, each thrust making your thighs shake and your hole clench around nothing. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!” Shouta groans, sitting up and grabbing one of your legs. He holds it up and grips your thigh tight, straddling your other leg before mashing your cunts together and grinding down hard.  Your eyes roll back a little and you let out loud whimpers intermingled with pants of his name. Faintly your mind registers the sound of something rattling near you, but you don’t lay it any mind until the sound and feeling of harsh vibrations pressed against your and Shouta’s cock make you shriek. Your eyes fly open and you grab at your boyfriend’s shoulders in surprise, eyes wide as you watch the way he groans and angles the vibrating wand just right and hits your cocks perfectly. 

“Oh G-God — fuck, Daddy, please!” you moan, nails digging into his back. He just moans out your name and grinds down harder, thrusting up into the bulbed head of the vibrator as well as your own cock. 

“That’s right, baby boy, call for Daddy,” he growls, pressing down hard enough to make you see stars. “Wanna feel you cum on me, baby, just like always.” His hips don’t even stutter once, and in the back of your mind you know he’s holding off from coming so he can watch you fall apart first. Typically you’d be fighting to make him come first ( because who says a little competitiveness in the bedroom is unhealthy? No one! ) but you were too close and he’d been too sexy throwing you around and manhandling you, then mounting you like the two of you were a couple of beasts in heat, and now grinding his cock and cunt against you? You never stood a chance. 

The knot that had been tying itself in your stomach with each roll of his hips starts tugging itself tighter and tighter, and sharp whines and cries punctuate the air as he kicks up the speed of the vibrator a couple of notches. “Fuck yes — More, more, so close!” You dry sob, trying not to cry when you know that your eyeliner looks so nice and you have a place to be in an hour and a half or so. 

“The fuck was that?” He snaps, pulling up to slap your cunt cruelly and make you shriek again before slamming himself and the vibrator back down on you to continue grinding. “You know fucking better, baby, try again.”

“Please, Daddy, please let me cum!” you beg, one tear running down your cheek. “Fuck, I wanna cum, please? Can I? Please?”

A sharp groan falls from his lips and his hips stutter ever so slightly, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, baby boy, cum for Daddy — cum all over Daddy’s cock!”

Your nails dig deep into his bicep and your eyes roll back as you thrust up unto him hard, your free leg not thrown over his shoulder bracing against the mattress as the two of you race to completion while clinging to each other like one of you could possibly disappear. The knot gets tighter, then tighter, then finally snaps and the wave of euphoria you’d been chasing washes over you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuck — Fuck, cumming, cumming! Shouta, fuck!” With a shriek of your boyfriend’s name cum gushes from your hole and soaks both your boyfriend’s crotch  and the blankets beneath you both, and deep, desperate grunts from above you signal how your own boyfriend has started cumming as well. Soft murmurs and groans of your name fall from his lips as he clicks off the vibrator and tosses it to the side on the bed, but the feeling of the vibrations continue for a moment as the two of you continue to grind slowly, occasionally jerking from the overstimulation, before slowing to a stop to catch your breath. 

The two of you lay there together, chests heaving, and soak up the afterglow of your orgasms while an alarm rings in the distance, telling you it was time to leave. After a moment you groan and sit up, throwing your quivering legs over the side of the bed then staggering to the bathroom on shaky legs. “I’m going to leave you for Snipe, I swear to God,” you whine, looking at yourself in the mirror and taking in how rocked you look. Shouta laughs from the bed as he sits up and stretches, watching your reflection in the mirror from the bed. “I mean it! He’d never do this to me.”

“That’s cause he’s boring,” Shouta purrs, stalking up behind you and pressing his front to your back and fitting against you perfectly like always. “He couldn’t handle you if he tried. That’s my job.” You make a face at him in the mirror, ignoring his soft snicker and beginning fixing your hair. 

“You’re damn lucky the staff knows I smudge my eyeliner on purpose, otherwise everyone would know,” you grumble in faux annoyance, and he just chuckles and clings to your back, burying his face in the crux between your neck and shoulder. His long hair tickles against your bare skin. 

“Nem’ll know anyway,” he murmurs as the two of you clean up, occasionally flinching from touching something still oversensitive. “Zashi too, I bet.”

“Of course they will,” you groan, covering your face with one arm as Shouta wipes cum from your thighs. “They always know.” 

He just laughs again. “Let’s just go. We should get dressed again.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “…Do we have to?”

Shouta sends you a dry, deadpan look ( as if asking ‘You’re fucking kidding me, right?’ ), and you laugh. 

“Fine, fine, lets go!”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[gtunesmiff]

How Writing Is Like Playing the Violin

Gabriela Pereira || DIYMFA

I have played the violin since I was four years old, and my son and daughter play piano and violin respectively. They both go to a Suzuki music school—the same school I attended from ages 4-18. In fact, my daughter’s violin teacher was my orchestra conductor and chamber music coach when I was a teen.

All of this means that I have a tendency to view the world through a Suzuki lens, an outlook that centers on incremental practice over progress made by leaps and bounds. This perspective is also especially useful when it comes to writing.

We all know full well that no one can write a book in a day. It takes time and continuous persistence. There’s no glamorous solution.

Rather, we just have to show up at the page on a regular basis and clock in the hours. It’s that simple.

And yet, there are a lot of sources out there that glamorize the “overnight success” approach to writing. This attitude is best summed up by an episode that happened in my traditional MFA program. One time in workshop, a writer whose story was on deck for critique said to the class: “I wanted to apologize in advance for any typos. I just threw this piece together on my phone, while standing in line at a movie theater last weekend.”

I’ll be honest, the possibility of typos was not the thing that concerned me about this writer’s statement. What bothered me most was the attitude, as though this writer was bragging about how little time they had spent on their submission. It was as if their goal wasn’t to write something good, but rather to write something with as little effort as possible.

This kind of attitude is dangerous because it lulls us into believing that writing should be “easy,” and if it’s not, then there must be something wrong with us. Let me make one thing very clear: the problem is not with us.

Now, don’t confuse writing fast with writing easily. Personally, I happen to be a naturally fast writer. Once I get an idea of what I want to say, it tends to pour out of me fairly quickly. Similar to other writers, I know many individuals who are like this with their fiction and can crank out multiple books a year at a furious pace.

Build speed and stamina through practice.

The speed at which we write has nothing to do with the ease with which we write. Just because I tend to write fast doesn’t mean that the process is “easy” for me. People who see me crank out words so quickly might think that all writing should be a snap.

What they don’t see are the years of practice that got me to the point where I write at this pace, the countless hours before I put pen to page, or when the ideas needed to incubate and take shape in my mind.

Speed and ease are two very different things. The speed at which we write and the quality of the words we produce, these things come with practice. Ease, on the other hand, is a fickle beast. Some days it might feel like words just flow out of you, while on other days, each syllable can be a slog.

This is where persistent, incremental practice can be a game changer. We have to train ourselves to produce words—whether we “feel like it” or not. We have to practice showing up to the page, regardless of whether the writing comes easily.

This reminds me of something I learned practicing the violin with my daughter. I’m not going to lie, the past five years of violin have been brutal. Lady Bug is a strong-willed girl and when she decides she’s not going to practice, no amount of cajoling, begging, arguing, or even threatening will get her to do it. If she weren’t so darn talented, we probably would have let her quit ages ago, but when she picks up the instrument, it’s like it was made for her.

The trick, of course, is getting her to pick up the instrument in the first place.

In the beginning, when she would blatantly refuse to practice, the teacher suggested a strategy. “Just have her open the box. Don’t make her pick up the violin or the bow. Just open the box and leave it there on the floor.” The idea was not to attach any expectations to the practice, but to get her used to the idea of opening the box. Eventually, curiosity would win out and she would pick up the violin and try to practice. (I wish I could say this strategy worked every time. It didn’t. But it worked enough that we kept at it.)

Normalize the practice.

We can use a similar strategy with our writing, especially when the writing feels like a challenge. Boot up the computer or pull out the notebook and pen, then just sit and wait. Don’t attach any expectations as to whether it will be a productive writing day or not.

Just show up and see what happens.

When we practice showing up, we lower the barrier to entry. We normalize the process and the practice. For example, at this stage, my kids practice their instruments because it’s just something we do in our family. Everyone plays an instrument.

Everyone practices. It’s our version of normal. As writers, we need to do the same thing: we need to normalize the practice of writing, and make it “just something we do” rather than turning it into a big deal.

Right now, many writers are gearing up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), a challenge where you try to write 50,000 words of a novel in the month of November. What I love about this challenge is that it forces you to show up and write, whether you feel like it or not. With such a tight timeline, there’s no room for dawdling or taking the day off. You have to pour those words onto the page one way or another. For many writers, this challenge is the spark that lights the fire under their backsides and gets them to write that book once and for all.

My one small concern with challenges like this is that there is no room for granting ourselves grace and showing up without expectation. Yes, you have to show up with these challenges, but you also have to produce something and sometimes that’s not in the cards. Just like some days you open the box and don’t pick up the violin, sometimes the writing is just plain hard and no matter what you try, nothing comes out. This is why I myself have never done this challenge in earnest. The few times I tried, I buckled under the pressure to produce and gave up within a few days.

If you are diving into the challenge, I tip my hat to you. While I myself have never gotten past the first few days, I have tremendous admiration for folks who are able to get to the finish line. It is an impressive feat, to be sure.

If you aren’t doing the challenge, I want to propose a low-impact alternative. For the month of November, practice opening the box. Show up at the computer and give yourself ten minutes. If no words come, then consider your time clocked in and go about the rest of your day. Chances are, though, after a few days of showing up, the words will eventually start to flow.

Remember, practice is not about rote repetition.

When I think of practice, I think of a meditation practice or a yoga practice, where 90% of the work is showing up and being present. Let’s make this November the month where we show up for ourselves and for our writing.

[garlandedspirits]

tagged by @thelovelygods (thank you angel! Just what I needed to today❤️)

nickname: The Historian by a teacher. My mom also has some but they belong to her ❤️

sign: aquarius

height: about 5′2

last thing i googled: Padmini

song stuck in my head:  I am in love with the first 46 second of this

number of followers: 936!

amount of sleep: ca. 8-9 hours on average, 2-5 if I’m stressed out about something happening the next day

lucky number: lucky? I don’t know him

dream job: I have always liked the thought of working in a library or museum

wearing: winter pyjamas and a bathrobe

movies/books that summarize me:  hmmm... as for books:

Metamorphoses - Ovid

The Tale of Genji - Murasaki Shikibu

The Pillow Book - Sei Shōnagon

The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov

The Anatomical Venus: Wax, God, Death & the Ecstatic - Joanna Ebenstein

Swamp Foetus - Poppy Z Brite

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

Dracula's Guest: A Connoisseur's Collection of Victorian Vampire Stories

Dark Water - Koji Suzuki

The Nightingale and the Rose - Oscar Wilde

Balyet - Patricia Wrightson

Also most importantly depressing scandinavian children’s book, but makes for a whole list in it’s own right...

movies:

Possession, 1981

Viy, 1967

Ivan the Terrible: Part 2, 1946

Kwaidan, 1964

Panna a Netvor, 1979

The Story of Adele H, 1975

Nosferatu (1922 and 1979 version)

The Prince of Egypt, 1998

All In The Dim Cold Night, 1974

La Reine Margot, 1994

Ringu, 1998

favorite song: so many to pick from... so I’m gonna narrow it down to my top 5 from this year (in no particular order): Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya, Kom Nirk Oun Eiy, If I Were  DESIRE, The Billowing Yangtze River Flows East (ROTk 1994 has too many great songs oof)

(And of course, almost everything by Kate Bush)

favorite instrument: probably the flute or the violin, it hits something deep and ancient in my soul

aesthetic: completely comfy and casual at home, according to my mom and sisters, a “cool” but “elegant” look when outside. Almost always in black

favorite author: Astrid Lindgren

favorite animal noise: the noises a dog makes when they’re happy to see you, almost everything that comes out of a cat

random: I am quite entranced with Kuchipudi and Bharatanatyam dance, so expect more of that on this tumblr in the very near future!

tagging @pierangelis, @karolinaceska, @dorianwrites, @streamlet, @stoertebeker, @death-of-venus, @iseute @moramaisis (and anyone else who is interested!)

[hclib]

Music with MacPhail

In 1907, Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra member William S. MacPhail founded the MacPhail School of Violin. In 1924, the MacPhail School of Music, as it was then known, moved to a new headquarters at 1128 LaSalle Ave. For 80 years MacPhail educated generations of local musicians from that location. Over the decades, the school's class offerings have included everything from toddler music classes to college degrees. When under the umbrella of the University of Minnesota in the 1960s, MacPhail Center for the Performing Arts introduced one of the nation's first Suzuki Method music programs for young learners. Since its founding, MacPhail has counted many esteemed local musicians, including Minnesota Orchestra members, among its faculty. Photos of many of these MacPhail teachers and students are available in the Hennepin County Library Digital Collections.

In 2008, the school moved to a new home on the Mississippi riverfront. From the new building and satellite locations throughout the metro, MacPhail Center for Music continues to educate musicians of all ages, including through programs at our libraries.

[cashthecomposer]

Congratulations on the musical and good luck with the production! How much work was it? What was your previous hardest thing you've made?

Thank you! It's been years in the making, I'm excited to finally be at the finish line. Explaining how much work it is is kind of tough, because there's different levels to the answer. And the second question, well, we'll get to that.

I started a stopwatch when I started writing back in May, running it only while I was actively writing, and stopping when I finished the first draft of the words and music. That was just over 1,000 hours, almost to the minute. Since then, I haven't kept a stopwatch, but I've kept working, on things like reorchestration, formatting, bowings and suggested fingerings for difficult passages (like nearly a page worth of harmonics and artificial harmonics), not to mention logistical things like coordination with the director, recruiting actors (which involved a lot more rice than you'd think), and practicing my part since I'm playing Mary in the workshops.

However, the idea has existed for about 7 years. Just before the 200th anniversary of Frankenstein in 2016, my dad had this idea for a musical. I have done research sporadically over the years, written lines (the opening line of the 11 o'clock number was the first thing I wrote for the whole show, back in October of 2015), etc. My research file is about 120 pages of my writing, plus excerpts from about 20 different published works by about a dozen different authors.

I couldn't have done any of this without my training, though. I started composing back in 2000, before I even finished kindergarten. I used to write down melodies during naptime. I started actually writing full pieces in high school (often during computer programming class), in about 2009 I want to say. I didn't have formal instruction in composition until 2013, when I went to the Brevard Music Institute for it, studying with Robert Aldridge and David Dzubay. I then earned a Bachelor's of Music in Composition at Converse College, where I studied primarily with Dr Scott Robbins, in 2017.

I started studying music in general with the violin when I was 2 years old, with the Suzuki method. I started studying under the Galamian method in about 2008, and continued that through college, with either teachers trained by teachers trained by Galamian, or with first generation Galamian students like the wonderful Sarah Johnson, who taught me while I was at Converse. She was actually one of the big reasons I went there. I then returned home and ended up pursuing my graduate studies under the tutelage of primarily Lee Chin Siow and secondarily Yuriy Bekker, finishing during the pandemic, culminating in a solo recital consisting of Bach, Paganini, and Ysaye.

I first played in a pit orchestra for Singing in the Rain, in 2013. I have since played in I don't even know how many productions of both musical theatre and opera, at every level (amateur, community, college, and professional) and I can't help but blur the lines between the two. Honestly, playing in the pit gave me more awareness and experience than you could possibly imagine, that translated a lot to my composition of the show.

Sorry for such a long answer to your first question. Now the second!

Quantifying 'hardest' is, in a word, relative. I would say that the hardest thing I ever did objectively speaking was either learn to jump rope (it took little disabled 4 year old me a year of daily practice to learn), or to play twinkle (I was 2 when I started, it took me almost 2 years). But in retrospect, both of those things seem laughably trivial now.

Actually, every answer I could give seems laughably trivial now. College was fine, even my math degree, grad school was hard but I did it. Yeah I got kicked out of high school (that's a whole thing) but I was enrolled in a new school in a week and graduated with honors. I've written musicals before, but they fizzled into nothingness. I've learned pieces that were hard while I was learning them, but now they're in my back pocket.

This musical is just a whole new level for me. I wrote it after two things happened: one externally, and one internally. I suffered a great trauma that will impact my life for its paltry remainder, and in surviving that, I had a moment of clarity, or maturity, or something along those lines. I realized I was finally ready to write this, my magnum opus.

I didn't just write a musical. I wrote a musical while rebuilding my body, rebuilding my mind, and rebuilding my life. I'm still not whole. I may never be whole. I'm waiting on a settlement that, let's be honest, won't help fill the void no matter how much it is. My vision is permanently bad now, my concussion has left permanent marks on my brain in a very physical sense, I'm still in physical therapy, I struggle to eat solid foods because of the pain, I may never ride a bike again, etc.

So 'hardest' is a really, really high bar for me. Nothing in my life in the past seems nearly as difficult. The most difficult piece I ever learned is either Ysaye 2, Shosty violin concerto, or Paganini concerto 1, but all of those feel easy now that I know them. I have written three major musical projects before that involved musical theatre, but again, none of them were of this magnitude and they will never see the light of day. I've written drafts of books that will never be read, symphonies that will never be heard, painted portraits that will live in my attic until I die. Wow I have a lot of free time.

I'm sure that once this musical is done and I'm on to my next, my perception will change again. But for now, there's no comparison.

Thank you for the chance for introspection. I really appreciate it, you made me think!

Cash

[cherryaire]

Finally found a way to better explain my dysmusia to my mom. I told her she reads music as it is and my brain reads it as wingdings. Then I showed her one of those keyboard tutorials with the finger placements. Music also looks a lot like guitar hero in my head so you can only imagine how excited I was when it came out and it made sense to me.

When I was in residential treatment I got to take a two week violin class. We learned everything through the Suzuki method—finger placements. What I wrote out to learn my solo was essentially guitar tabs for my violin. It was the first time I wasn't hindered in trying to make music, and I felt so free my teacher didn't believe me for several minutes when I told her I'd never even held a violin before.

My band teacher forbade me to write the note names in my book, the one that I paid for. I told him I wouldn't be able to play. He started checking my book. After that day I could only play what I'd managed to memorize. I didn't actually play a single note at a concert because I didn't have the note names. I faked it.

How is my accessibility tool, one that takes time that I have to do myself, any concern of yours? How does that effect anyone but me? All he did was ruin the joy I had in making music.

I have to work to play music so much harder than the average person does. My mom can't comprehend not being able to read it, much like how I can't fathom her experience either.

I was so excited to enjoy it too because I didn't get to play the clarinet like I wanted. Woodwinds and brass make me sneeze because of the vibration and the drummers were full, so I got the flute. I made noise out of it on the first try. I enjoyed it so much that my band teacher refurbished the pads for me out of the goodness of his heart. They were dry and cracked. The cork also came out but a professional would have to do that part.

I'm pretty sure that part of me is dead now, honestly. My violin teacher really wanted me to do lessons because I'm a natural. No way in hell could we afford that.

I don't think I wanna experience that a third time.

[hessbynum]

Sue Massek Project - Blog #1

I probably should’ve written all of this a month or maybe two ago. While I was very good at documenting my musical escapades prior to the pandemic… I’ve failed to resume that activity once the world started turning again. I did write a blog in 2022 about my first experience with Cowan Creek Mountain Music School, but instead of posting it I got COVID. I want to apologize because there’s been plenty to report all along. 

Photo of our class in 2022.

In June of 2023, I was at Cowan Creek Mountain Music School again. Sue Massek asked me if I would be interested in being her next apprentice under the Kentucky Folklife program run by the Kentucky Arts Council. I agreed, we applied, and we were approved to proceed. We had our first meeting in July, which was some songwriting swapping, stories with Sue, and plotting. 

Jessie Northridge, Sue Massek, and me on the right.

I figured I should probably write up how I met Sue and since I’ve had some blogs travel farther than I expected, I’m going to start at the very beginning. 

***My Story***

I grew up in the Nashville, Tennessee area. When I was about 8 years old, my school got a Suzuki violin program. I brought the flyer home and asked permission. My parents came home the next day with a small violin. 

While we, of course, learned orchestral music, we were in Nashville. I learned how to fiddle as a child and we also learned about what we called string band music. I almost never heard the terms bluegrass or old time. Being in Nashville, we had professionals with the Nashville Symphony Orchestra visit us along with touring musicians who played in country music bands.

Me with my first violin. It was clearly a little big, but I grew into it.

***Appalachian Music***

It wasn’t until I was an adult I started to unpack the tangle of traditions I had been brought up in, musically speaking. I suppose I thought everyone got handed a mountain dulcimer at some point, and plenty of families had musical traditions that involved forming a band, and how those Appalachian traditions intermingled into *Nashville* itself. I'm not mountain folk. But I now see how interwoven Appalachian traditions are into what I learned as a child and what I do now as an adult.

***Moving to Kentucky***

I wound up in Kentucky when I went to Transylvania University to study Applied Music and Teaching Music. Unfortunately, I only got to teach music in the public schools a short while. The Kentucky legislature changed the rules while I was wrapping up my degree forcing teachers to get a masters degree. After two years my certification expired and the only way to renew it was to enroll in a masters program. The universities weren’t set up to support online learning yet or really working teachers. I had struggled with my true education classes, so getting a masters in education seemed very daunting, which was my only option as a working teacher. I also wasn’t keen on amassing more student debt, so I resigned.

***Finding a Place in Corporate Learning***

I took a part time retail job thinking I would do that while I figured it out and it wasn’t long before I was a corporate trainer. I had found a new niche. I didn’t play music for a while as it was so painful. In many ways I felt like I had failed, but looking back on things I’m outraged over how the state created their own teacher shortage. The state has since undone their requirement, but my thoughts on all of it are a whole separate blog.

I was a traveling trainer for a number of years and started playing music on my own. Once my travel winded down with corporate changes, I joined the Heartland Dulcimer Club which connected me with more Appalachian music circles. 

Photo of me playing with the Heartland Dulcimer Club in Elizabethtown, Kentucky.

In 2013, I started a masters degree in Training and Development with emphasis in eLearning through the University of Saint Francis. I did the degree program entirely online. At points I was working full time, a full time graduate student, and serving on two non-profit boards. (I tend to have fruitful and fallow seasons. I was clearly in a strong fruitful season.)

***Meeting Sue***

In 2014, I signed up for Kentucky Music Week which is a wonderful event every summer in Bardstown, Kentucky run by the amazing Nancy Johnson Barker. (If you are a mountain or hammered dulcimer player, you must go!) KMW offers 5 possible classes a day. I signed up for 5 classes and one of them was a beginning old time banjo class with Sue Massek. My husband had a banjo he didn't play, so I borrowed it and off I went.

For one of my university classes I had to do a research project and write a paper. I had selected Highlander Folk School as I’ve been past its current location in Tennessee and frankly, didn’t know much about it. It was a harder topic as there’s comparatively less published on the subject than say Dale Carnegie. 

***Highlander Folk School***

I was fascinated by what I learned. Highlander Folk School was founded by Myles Horton in 1932. Back in his day mountain folk were called highlanders. His vision was of a place where community members could come together to learn and work together to solve problems. Drawing inspiration from the Danish folk school system, Horton eventually organized workshops around topics so you had the right people in the room to work through problems together. Highlander Folk School was instrumental in the labor union movement and the civil rights movement. 

Sue had indicated on her artist bio that she had frequented Highlander Folk School, so I wanted to talk to her about it. We were already almost to the end of the week on Thursday when I got up the courage to ask. Sue had given us a moment to practice on our own which also allowed her a chance to help anyone one on one. Imagine a room with 15 or so banjo players all playing at once, but not in unison. While she was free, I asked Sue about Highlander Folk School. She asked me if I had been. I said no and explained my research paper. She looked thoughtful and said, “One time Rosa Parks was my roommate.” The room was instantly silent and I’ll never forget someone in the back said, “What?” While we all learn about Rosa Parks in school, what we don’t learn is that she was trained in passive resistance at a workshop at Highlander Folk School. Sue told us about her experience rooming with Rosa Parks. 

A few things happened that day. While I didn’t know much about Sue prior to that week, I started the process to learn more. I also went and bought an open back banjo because I was absolutely hooked on the instrument. 

Over the next ten years, I would take classes with Sue any chance I got. Each time I learn something new and she tells amazing stories about her incredible life.

Me, Sue, and Mr. Barrett after a KMW class in 2018.

***Apprenticeship***

I think everyone else who has apprenticed with Sue over the years was aspiring to be a professional musician, which is not the case with me. I have a day job that I love, but I am active in the musical community. While I’ve been on hiatus from the Heartland Dulcimer Club for a few years now (I missed them!), I’m currently serving on the Louisville Folk School board and will likely seek somewhere to start teaching group classes again once I finish my apprenticeship. I've also been aspiring to record an album, something I've willingly slow walked as more time means more original songs to work with.

For the project, I have a number of songs I want to learn from Sue that we've somehow missed over the years. I'm also digitizing some of Sue's personal recordings from over the years so we can make them available. I expect I'll be blogging about them here as I get them uploaded. Sue is an amazing songwriter, so songwriting is in the mix too.

[lboogie1906]

Regina Carter (born August 6, 1966) is an American jazz violinist. She is the cousin of jazz saxophonist James Carter.

She was born in Detroit and was one of three children in her family.

She began piano lessons at the age of two after playing a melody by ear for her brother’s piano teacher. After she deliberately played the wrong ending note at a concert, the piano teacher suggested she take up the violin, indicating that the Suzuki Method could be more conducive to her creativity. She enrolled at the Detroit Community Music School when she was four years old and she began studying the violin. She still studied the piano, as well as tap and ballet.

She played in the youth division of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. She was able to take master classes from Itzhak Perlman and Yehudi Menuhin.

She attended Cass Technical High School. She performed with the Detroit Civic Orchestra and played in a pop-funk group named Brainstorm. She took viola, oboe, and choir lessons.

She studied classical violin at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston when she decided to switch to jazz. She transferred to Oakland University, where she was a jazz major under the direction of Marvin “Doc” Holladay. She studied and performed with trumpeter Marcus Belgrave. She was able to meet musicians active in the Detroit jazz scene, including Lyman Woodard. After graduating, she taught strings in Detroit public schools. Needing a change of scene, she moved to Europe and lived in Germany for two years. She worked as a nanny for a German family and taught violin on a military base. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[tfblovesmusic]

The Anthem 'Give Ear Unto Me' Was ORIGINALLY WRITTEN By TWO TENORS!

Picture yourself in a church service, tuning in as two sopranos in the choir pipe out Give Ear Unto Me, Vincent Novello's arrangement of a duet from Benedetto Marcello's Estro poetico-armonico.

Now imagine you're in my shoes - you're a HUGE fan of early music.

After getting home from the service, you tried Googling what was the original version of that anthem. You'd probably began listening to some entire period instrument takes of I cieli immensi narrano, S.618, after hearing the organ play an arrangement of the first movement at a wedding.

I have been that person.

I have been an early music buff since 5th grade, upon watching the Classic Arts Showcase block on my public access channel; buying the book, Classical Music: The 50 Greatest Composers and Their 1,000 Greatest Works; and watching several documentaries on Ovation TV in the early 2000s.

I have tons of favorite sites: the Bach Cantatas Website, Medieval.org, and Suzuki Violin Pieces in their Original Forms.

That's right: Suzuki Violin Pieces in their Original Forms.

Composer, piano teacher, and musicologist Mark Polesky had gathered all the pieces in all 10 volumes of the Suzuki Violin School. He declared that the majority of pieces weren't originally written for violin and piano. And to cap it all off, most weren't originally violin pieces to begin with.

Take the Allegro by Joseph-Hector Fiocco, for instance. Like Marcello's opening movement of I cieli immensi narrano, S.618, that piece has been played for many a wedding ceremony. But delve further into the musicology-early music rabbit hole, and you'll find that it's actually the 10th movement from Fiocco's first suite written for harpsichord.

"By this measure then," Polesky remarked, "almost 90% of the series consists of transcriptions and arrangements — and I assume that most Suzuki students have only heard a few (if any) of these pieces in their original form, and also that many students may have never seen an original score."

"This is unfortunate. A typical Book 2 student who dutifully listens to the violin and piano recordings (provided by the company), might still never experience the boisterous humor of the original Hunters’ Chorus from Der Freischütz, or the inspiring virtuosity of Paganini’s Le Streghe (the source of Witches’ Dance)."

"It may also come as a surprise to many students that 11 of the pieces were originally intended to be sung — and how many of us can even say what the Chorus from Judas Maccabaeus is really about? Unfortunately, the texts for many of these songs will be beyond the comprehension of most of the youngsters playing them (particularly The Two Grenadiers), but a good teacher could convey the gist of most of them."

Polesky also mentioned the kicker - the website could as well introduce early music to violin students AND their parents and carers. By having them compare the original manuscripts to what is written in the Suzuki method books, they would ask questions like:

Why is the soloist playing something different from what’s in the score?

Can I add embellishments too? When and how? Why is everything tuned flat?

Where is the harpsichordist getting all those notes from?

Why are there so few dynamics, articulations, etc. in the original score?

Do I have to play it the way it’s written in my score?

"It should be mentioned at some point that many of the pieces in the Suzuki series are labeled too simply, with singular names such as Gavotte or Largo," Polesky explained.

"Anyone who wishes to research the original sources is faced with a particular challenge. For example, how many of Rameau’s 30 or so operas must one sift through before finding the Book 6 Gavotte buried in Act III of the obscure 1745 opera Le temple de la gloire? Hopefully in future editions, the publishers will include better identification of the sources."

"Also, several of the names that are listed as composers are simply incorrect. For example, most scholars now agree that at least two of the Minuets attributed to J. S. Bach in Volume 1 were not written by him. And the Lully Gavotte in Book 2 is actually a Rondeau by Marin Marais."

Don't you wish there SHOULD be the same analysis of some English-language arrangements of sacred Baroque vocal works sung at churches?

That brings us to Give Ear Unto Me. Before joining TalkClassical in early June 2024, I tried Googling in vain for the original source, listening to countless recordings of Marcello psalms, AND going as far as contacting Howard Goodall (who presented several classical music documentaries on Ovation TV) on X for answers. Nothing turned up.

Upon joining the forum, I aired my desperate, futile attempts to track down the original scoring of Give Ear Unto Me. Happily, RobertJTh pointed me to the direction of the good old IMSLP. Novello arranged the second movement of Salmo XVI, Tu che sai quanto sia giusta, S.616. Marcello composed it for two tenors.

Let that sink in...

TWO. TENORS.

I started reading Damián H. Zanette's modern adaptation of the manuscript and tuned into one rendition of Give Ear Unto Me. The vocal lines, not the lyrics, of Section A are between measures 26-72. Those in Section B are between measures 197-208. As I read the corresponding ones, THEY MATCHED!

While listening and reading, I thought, "Can you imagine two tenors singing Give Ear Unto Me without Novello's intro - basso continuo played by cello and chamber organ, per historically informed performance, and pitch at least 2 semitones lower - at a Sunday Mass?"

Short answer: HECK YES.

No recordings of Salmo XVI, Tu che sai quanto sia giusta, S.616 exist, but I would LOVE to hear some early music tenor duos ham it up for YouTube with full bassi continui!

[fangyue0202-blog]

Hi! All, I am Fangyue (Sarah) He, a violinist based in Portland OR. I am a Suzuki Method trained violin teacher as well as an orchestral musician currently working in Boise Philharmonic in Boise, ID. I am a classically trained violinist since I was 4 years old. I have been playing the violin my whole life and I would like to share music making with you! This summer (2024) I will be in McCall Summer Music Festival in Roseberry, ID. I am looking forward to it!

[suzukimusicschool]

Choosing A Suzuki Violin School: The Importance Of A Renowned Faculty

In the realm of Suzuki Violin education, the faculty plays a pivotal role in shaping the musical journey of students. Renowned Violin Teachers in VA, MD, and DC can inspire, guide, and mentor students, leaving an indelible mark on their musical development.Contact Northern Virginia Suzuki Music School to take the first step toward a musical journey guided by exceptional instructors.

Read The Article: https://articlescad.com/choosing-a-suzuki-violin-school-the-importance-of-a-renowned-faculty-4782.html

[viowlett]

First lesson thoughts...

I loved my first lesson!

The teacher seems to be around the same age as me. I thought I would be super anxious about it, but actually she was so nice and lovely, and I can't wait for my next lesson with her.

I need to work on the weighting of my bow when I move from a thicker string to a thinner one...and to keep my pointer finger a little closer to the others in my bow hold, so I have greater mobility.

I also need to try and use the whole bow, as I tend to stick to the middle section far too much! She gave me these notes so constructively during the lesson, and she was so helpful when she was explaining the bits for it. Especially when I'd make an accidental 'gritty' sound with the bow. That was something I'd been struggling to figure out, as I wasn't sure what was causing that sound (it was the weighting issue when changing strings).

At the end of the lesson we went over some books that I could learn from regarding the genre of music I wanted to learn, and she actually suggested the Suzuki Violin school books, which I actually already have!

With a little more confidence, I may even start recording myself so I can see my progress over the upcoming weeks.

I am so excited to put in the hours for this instrument.

[classicalguitartrends]

ACHILLE VANNI Piano

ACHILLE VANNI Achille Vanni was born in Italy in 2019. He started learning violin at the age of 2, with Francesca Raimondi, a teacher of the Suzuki method, in the school “La Musica è gioia” in Voghera. Also if he is only 4 years old, Achille already participated to many masterclasses, both in Italy and Switzerland, held by important teachers of Suzuki school, as Alessio Nacuzi, Koen Rens, etc……

[pinkdamascus]

Trying to learn a new instrument and i cant help but think of my childhood music classes.. i spent 7 years learning violin, 5 along with ""theory"" classes and never NEVER anybody bothered to teach us all the varieties of classic music, we had 3 minuets in suzuki but i dont fucki ng know what a minuet is or what makes it diferent from any other category of baroque court dance music....

Like i spent so many years waking up early to getting yelled at by teachers to not even learn anything interesting

[krowjet]

Welcome to random dream story time, featuring the weird hyper realistic dreams caused by my anti depressants!

Anyways.

So to start off, my old piano instructor, who also does chorus and orchestra, comes to me, and asks me to help with a concert. She’s short on violins for the concert for some reason, and since I play violin and own one, she asks me to play. In exchange, she’ll gift me a viola, an instrument I actually want to play (look, violin hurts my ears and the more mellow and deeper tone of the viola is easier on my ears).

Anyways, so I agree because, you know, I love music and I love having instruments to play. There’s a reason I own a few. Apparently the concert is split into two parts- a few group pieces, and solos performed by each. The concert starts at 10 pm for some reason, which is a questionable choice for time.

I prep some music for my solo, going through all my old sheet music for a song, including pieces I’ve printed myself outside of classes from when I was in orchestra.

The day of the concert, I dress casually, since I was told it was a relaxed dress code. Out of habit, I dress in black because that’s standard for concerts since it creates a uniform look and makes it easier to focus on the music as opposed to things like what people are wearing. I’m in a black shirt, hoodie, jeans, and wearing some Docs because I can.

I have trouble getting there because my car’s in the shop and heavy traffic, so I have to call and I end up going with a friend and their boyfriend (who by the way, they don’t have one and I can’t even remember who’s face it was). And they’ve got a freaking like bright red sports car with the retractable roof and it’s down. It’s night, I’ve got a fragile instrument and the first solo piece I could find, which is an excerpt of a longer piece, can’t remember the piece but I think it was a concerto from one of the Suzuki books (yes this is important).

I get there and the venue is full of people because I arrived about as late as I could at 10, and I find out we don’t even play until midnight. Oh, by the way, it’s a Christmas concert, and there’s middle schoolers playing. Because for some reason, the event organizers decided to make all the age groups play the same night at the same location. And no one told me I was supposed to wear like red and green and a Santa hat, so I’m over here with my dumb face wearing all black and looking edgy as heck.

And no one gave the sheet music for the concert! Not only do I not have any clue on what’s happening, no one told me! And it’s not even my old teacher isn’t at fault. The event organizers barely got the music to her and the dress code and what not on time, so she was just as frustrated. She couldn’t tell me because I’m not even actually a part of her classes so it’s not like she sees me around to tell me because I’m on the opposite side of the campus.

When we actually go onto the stage to perform, guess what. My stand partner doesn’t have her music- she left it at home! So I pull out what I have, which the excerpt from the Suzuki book is the piece. I pull it out, but we panic when people pull out like four pages worth of music, and I only have one. We find out it’s just an excerpt of the actual piece!

So we’re both panicking and just have to share the sheet music with the stand next to us, so four people are all trying to use the same stand and it’s absolutely ridiculous. We’re all covered in rosin from our bows, and the lights are bright and in our eyes, and it’s absolutely miserable since it’s so late. Most of us have to drive home as well.

So once we get through the piece, we’re told by the event organizers they didn’t book the venue long enough and now we’re rushing the solos, and I can’t use my piece because we all just played it! So I have to spit out a piece I memorized on guitar, on the violin.

Afterwards when everyone’s leaving, we all are hungry and everyone just drives to McDonald’s and then goes home after sharing a meal and complaining about the poor setup on the event organizers part. I have to hitch a ride home with someone who who lives farther away and I just happen to be on the route home.

And then I woke up pissed.

I’ve never had a dream actually annoy me that much, and I can’t even be mad at anyone because it wasn’t real and also I technically made this up in my own mind. Also the fact I can remember this much is honestly impressive.

Oh, I didn’t get my viola either. And we didn’t sound good. And my stand partner was cringing because she had perfect pitch.