I dream daily. In my dream, I can play the violin well. I can play the guitar well, and the piano too. I can pinpoint an interval between two, three, four notes and play it effortlessly. I can sight-read sheet music. I know the all the major and minor scale positions on the guitar. I weave through them like a sewing machine, mechanically obedient, leaving the door to stylistic interpretation wide open. I can feel the music, not just play it.
In my dream, if someone were to say to me, “How does the Moonlight Sonata go?” I could instantly play it on one of these three instruments without error or hesitation. There is no mediation of the sound, it just appears without being conceived, bypassing the rational mind and making its way straight to the fingers. I have practiced for thousands and thousands of hours to get here.
I don’t know if I’ll ever achieve this dream. Perhaps just part of it.
I want to know modes, and feel the emotion of Dorian minors. I want to understand Pythagorean tuning. I want to have an acute awareness of harmonics, to use them delicately.
I want to play in a string quartet, sing my heart out to people who know the words, play guitar in an dance band, experiment with field recording, binaural recording. I want to have production freehold, to know the sounds before they happen. I want my music mixed and mastered by professionals. I want a soundproof chamber with a lock on the door and six months to find myself.
I want to meet strange people in foreign places and let the music do the talking. I want to play the Egyptian Oud. I want to play in the streets for joy and speak the pentatonic scale fluently. I want to awaken the repressed, intimate, primal soul of the human through the art of making music.
It seems that I have an unquenchable thirst for maximising this life while I have it.