Skype lessons taught me to focus on the details. I became better at producing the notes I needed to from nothing; earlier, I was always given a pitch pipe or drone. I focused on breathing life into the music I create. I internalized rhythm better in the event of video lag.
Learning like this was both incredibly mathematical and artistic. I counted each beat strictly, knowing there was only one right answer to where the note could fall. Yet when it came to how the note fell, I became flexible. The ways a note could sound were as varied as the color spectrum itself. Loud, soft, brave, timid, warm, harsh, lanced, feather-light, frantic, part of a whole: All these became stylistic choices that distinguished the great from the merely good.
Being able to make those choices on my own developed my skills and confidence. While listening to others’ concerts, I was able to apply my knowledge of the details involved in crafting technique. I considered how effectively other musicians conveyed meaning through their artistic choices. I remembered my learning every time I heard music — shopping malls, local orchestras, reality television. I saw opportunities to learn awaken before my eyes everywhere; I eagerly anticipated new lessons and my assured improvement.
It’s an interesting background and one that’s so deeply rooted in the 2010s: right after this technology that existed but was wonky in the noughties finally found its groove.
Not to mention how Skype has become so obsolete that even the verb of it switched over to Zoom. Although to be fair, I’m sure the kids younger than me might have their own story of learning music over Zoom.
As the world turns. As I live and breathe.
