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It's Time
7 years ago
I didn't expect much out of this Christmas beyond a nice day off before heading to work tonight that would include a bit of a sleep in, opening gifts with Rhubarb, and a nice meal of some sort. I certainly did not expect a twist worth of O Henry.
As I enjoyed my morning coffee, I thought "better change your Facebook banner photo - it still says Christmas Eve." After some thought, I came up with the idea to use a photo of the Steinway Vertigrand piano in Abbey Road Studios - the one played by the Beatles on some of their recordings, but (for me) most notably by Mrs. Mills, a famous British pianist. (Google her.) It's not something most people would pick up on - it's just a photo of a very old, run down piano keyboard.
I chose it to remind myself of some goals I've had, one of which is to keep saving enough money to go to Abbey Road Studio 2 and record a CD of old pub songs. I don't think this is something anyone would necessarily want to buy (always a few friends, but it's not full of "all the epic feels" and other sorts of things furries are into.) And to be honest, what I really want to do is just put my hands on that instrument and play it; to be in the physical presence of that piano and its history.
I thought I was going to live that dream when a fellow musician approached me in February 2015 and mentioned that he was going to record there, and that he wanted Rhubarb and I to participate. I was elated!!! Perhaps more-so than I should have been, in hindsight. By November of 2015, it had become clear that no only was I no longer going to be part of the project, Rhubarb had been asked specifically to keep me in the dark, lest I tag along uninvited.
The session came and went and I destroyed myself emotionally trying to remain supportive of Rhubarb's participation but dying a little bit more every time the band in which I once played did another show without me. Going to cons almost broke me. I still can't tell you why any of this happened, and when I finally asked, neither could the fellow musician. I decided back in 2016 that if I wanted to live the dream, I'd have to make it happen on my own. For the past couple of years I've been slowly working on a three-disc project, one of which is to be the CD of Pub Songs recorded on the Mrs. Mills piano at Abbey Road.
So, Christmas morning 2018. I've changed my Facebook banner photo. A while later, Rhubarb suggests that the next couple of weeks we have off together would be great for recording all the songs we've done at cons and said we would record, but haven't yet. I agreed. He asks for some help in his studio - can i play piano while he fiddles around with settings? Of course. I sit down to the piano and have barely played one chord when I recognise that this is NOT his usual piano setting. It is the Mrs. Mills piano. He has cleverly purchased a virtual instrument collection of classic Abbey Road keyboards and installed it on his studio computer. I began to cry. I barely managed to ask if what I heard was true. It was. The kicker? He hadn't seen my Facebook banner photo yet. Talk about a coincidence!
We played and fiddled with settings for a good hour whilst enjoying a cuppa from the new coffee maker with which I'd surprised him this morning. We tried all sorts of piano samples, microphone profiles, etc. It's not quite the same as having your hands on the actual instrument but the sound is amazing.
So, this week I hope we can get at least half a dozen songs recorded. I hope I can remember some of them - half of what I write exists in the moment of a con show and I have to rely on other people's videos to jog my memory. And on New Year's Eve, I plan to write down that fellow musician's name on a slip of paper, tear it up, and toss it into the bonfire. It's how I let things go. I don't know why it works, but it does. It allows me to move on, and I have to move on. That friendship has been broken for years now. I don't know if it's reparable, but if it's to be salvaged at all, I have to let it go and move forward.
In the meanwhile, I have the best, most amazing husband in the world, and I'm incredibly lucky to have him.
Merry Christmas, Rhubarb.
Merry Christmas, Mrs. Mills.
Merry Christmas, fellow musician.
Merry Christmas one and all.
As I enjoyed my morning coffee, I thought "better change your Facebook banner photo - it still says Christmas Eve." After some thought, I came up with the idea to use a photo of the Steinway Vertigrand piano in Abbey Road Studios - the one played by the Beatles on some of their recordings, but (for me) most notably by Mrs. Mills, a famous British pianist. (Google her.) It's not something most people would pick up on - it's just a photo of a very old, run down piano keyboard.
I chose it to remind myself of some goals I've had, one of which is to keep saving enough money to go to Abbey Road Studio 2 and record a CD of old pub songs. I don't think this is something anyone would necessarily want to buy (always a few friends, but it's not full of "all the epic feels" and other sorts of things furries are into.) And to be honest, what I really want to do is just put my hands on that instrument and play it; to be in the physical presence of that piano and its history.
I thought I was going to live that dream when a fellow musician approached me in February 2015 and mentioned that he was going to record there, and that he wanted Rhubarb and I to participate. I was elated!!! Perhaps more-so than I should have been, in hindsight. By November of 2015, it had become clear that no only was I no longer going to be part of the project, Rhubarb had been asked specifically to keep me in the dark, lest I tag along uninvited.
The session came and went and I destroyed myself emotionally trying to remain supportive of Rhubarb's participation but dying a little bit more every time the band in which I once played did another show without me. Going to cons almost broke me. I still can't tell you why any of this happened, and when I finally asked, neither could the fellow musician. I decided back in 2016 that if I wanted to live the dream, I'd have to make it happen on my own. For the past couple of years I've been slowly working on a three-disc project, one of which is to be the CD of Pub Songs recorded on the Mrs. Mills piano at Abbey Road.
So, Christmas morning 2018. I've changed my Facebook banner photo. A while later, Rhubarb suggests that the next couple of weeks we have off together would be great for recording all the songs we've done at cons and said we would record, but haven't yet. I agreed. He asks for some help in his studio - can i play piano while he fiddles around with settings? Of course. I sit down to the piano and have barely played one chord when I recognise that this is NOT his usual piano setting. It is the Mrs. Mills piano. He has cleverly purchased a virtual instrument collection of classic Abbey Road keyboards and installed it on his studio computer. I began to cry. I barely managed to ask if what I heard was true. It was. The kicker? He hadn't seen my Facebook banner photo yet. Talk about a coincidence!
We played and fiddled with settings for a good hour whilst enjoying a cuppa from the new coffee maker with which I'd surprised him this morning. We tried all sorts of piano samples, microphone profiles, etc. It's not quite the same as having your hands on the actual instrument but the sound is amazing.
So, this week I hope we can get at least half a dozen songs recorded. I hope I can remember some of them - half of what I write exists in the moment of a con show and I have to rely on other people's videos to jog my memory. And on New Year's Eve, I plan to write down that fellow musician's name on a slip of paper, tear it up, and toss it into the bonfire. It's how I let things go. I don't know why it works, but it does. It allows me to move on, and I have to move on. That friendship has been broken for years now. I don't know if it's reparable, but if it's to be salvaged at all, I have to let it go and move forward.
In the meanwhile, I have the best, most amazing husband in the world, and I'm incredibly lucky to have him.
Merry Christmas, Rhubarb.
Merry Christmas, Mrs. Mills.
Merry Christmas, fellow musician.
Merry Christmas one and all.
V.