My one-on-one Beginning Piano teacher at Razzmatazz Piano Academy For Adults was named Warren, and over the course of our eight weeks together, he taught me invaluable lessons about both musicianship and divorce. Here are six of those lessons.
1. Divorce is often the result of poor communication
My first lesson at Razzmatazz involved practicing the C Major scale and learning about the breakdown in communication between my teacher, Warren, and his wife of 17 years, Cynthia. I plunked at the keys while Warren, who was clad in a neat wool suit, explained that he and Cynthia had vastly different schedules due to her work as a nighttime midwife and his work as a jazz piano instructor for adults. Their once-strong relationship foundered as he invested more and more time in a promising 47-year-old Beginner II student and she began delivering larger and larger babies. “Did you know that marriage is about talking to your wife?” he said. “If you spend more time teaching your 47-year-old Beginner II student how to stand up and do a spin at the end of ‘Mack The Knife’ for his mid-year recital than you do communicating with your spouse, you’re in trouble, bub.” I nodded as I absorbed this information and continued working on my scales. “Try to add a little more razzmatazz,” Warren counseled me sadly. He took a deep breath. “They tell me to say that at least once per lesson.”
2. You can teach chords and you can teach scales, but you can’t teach swing
Warren liked to hit me on the head with a ruler every time I messed up playing my swing rhythm scales, but sometimes he had tears in his eyes when he did so. “You’ve either got the swing in your heart or you don’t. Cynthia did. She always will,” he’d say. I’d try my best to get into the groove while I’d stare at Warren’s framed teaching diploma from Razzle Dazzle Piano University. Warren would weep silently. It was a sad way to learn an important piano lesson, and I’ll never forget it.
3. In both piano and marriage, never stop learning
“The second you stop learning new things about Cynthia or whoever your wife is, your marriage is done,” Warren told me one day while I tried on the tuxedo he rented me for my upcoming grocery store parking lot performance of “Fly Me To The Moon”. “If you look at a piano every day, you’ll start noticing chords you never saw before. If you look at Cynthia every day, I don’t know what would happen, because I’m a damn fool and I didn’t do it.” Warren then looked me up and down, nodded his head ruefully, and made me promise him that I’d treat my spouse the same way I’d treat a baby grand, and vice versa. I wasn’t totally clear on what that meant, but when I agreed, Warren burst into tears.
4. Sex is an underrated element of a partnership that deserves time and focus
Warren impressed upon me that the loss of sexual passion in a marriage is not something that I, or any pianist, should take lightly. “We can talk frankly about these things because Razzmatazz a piano school for adults, and thank god for that,” Warren said. “So remember this: If you have time to fondle the ivories, you have time to fondle your loved one’s genitals.” As I worked through my practice piece, I imagined discussing the importance of sexual compatibility with my fantasy future spouse, noting that we would have to be honest about our interests in certain sexual kink lifestyles, such as BDSM. When I asked Warren whether he or Cyntha had a penchant for BDSM activities like hitting one another with baseball bats or walking one another through the grocery store on a leash, he, once again, burst into tears.
5. Pianists need good posture!
Warren also liked to hit me with his ruler when I slouched, because, as he said, “Razzmatazz starts in the spine.” Over the course of our time together, Warren made it clear to me that sitting up straight on the piano bench is step one towards becoming a virtuoso. This lesson has carried over into my personal life, as my upright posture has translated into a newfound confidence. Maybe it will even help me find a spouse!
6. You can’t un-play a note, no matter how badly you may want to
Warren was laid down across the piano bench one afternoon when I arrived for my lesson, and as I walked in, he lifted one arm, let it fall down on the lowest note on the piano, and let out a wail. “There is no un-pressing of a key,” he told me. “There are no takebacks—none. Not at Razzmatazz Piano Academy For Adults, and not in matters of the heart.” He lay there for the rest of my lesson while I practiced my bow, since I did not feel comfortable leaning over him to play the piano itself. His total silence, punctuated by his whispers of “I need you, Cynthia,” impressed upon me the utter gravity of his teachings. Even after I play “Take The A-Train” at the Hillwood High School auditorium for my end-of-semester recital and take my final bow, I know that Warren’s lessons about piano and divorce will stick with me.
