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My Music "Roots" I'm a child of the Royal Conservatory of Music, having taken piano lessons and then passed the RCM Grade 8 Practical and Grade 2 Theory. At age 13 I could teach piano, theoretically. In 2002 I took courses in drum and guitar and unexpectedly discovering my musical roots. I am now interested in learning more about singing, for the fun and for the challenge. If I were serious about breaking into the music business I'd need a shark for a manager - my eclectic taste makes me a marketing nightmare. I love the schamltziest folkloric music to the exotic of world-beat, chant and Persian music, I cut my teeth on Rachmaninoff and fell in love with rock during the Beatles invasion. My father always had a harmonica or squeeze-box at hand to play for us. Sometimes he would suddenly holding his hand to his mouth and making it sing - he had one harmonica so tiny he could hide it in his palm, to our delight. We always pretended he had performed magic. Being the eldest of three daughters, I was allowed to accompany him to choir practise. Before the High Mass at Church, my father‘s friends would get together in Oome Sinnige‘s basement. They would let me sit on a kitchen stool surrounded by song sheets and Latin hymns. Pappa was in the tenors’ section. I think I have a photo still. Mine was the first father on the block to own a Hi-Fi set. After Mass we had breakfast and then we always listened to the newest album he had bought while he conducted with a pretend baton. His favorite was anything by Beethoven, and the London Philharmonic's version of Tchaikovsky’s "Overture of 1812" because they used real cannons and church bells. Whenever Leonard Bernstein had a special music presentation for children on TV we made sure to watch - I remember because he was handsome and looked just like my father. My father may have been mean but he was very good-looking. My father was self-disciplined enough to actually finish a “Teach Yourself Piano - Book for Adults” from cover to cover. I think the only piece I helped him on was on the last page - it was called something like “The Mexican Jumping Bean”. I was really proud of him and kind of surprised, well, not really - he was always pretty surprising. For my ninth birthday my father took me to Kleinhans Music Hall in Buffalo NY to see Isaac Stern. I was awed even though I couldn't really appreciate his playing until I was grown up.
Latest page update: Oct 16 2007, 3:06 PM EDT
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