2-5-1

A whole new situation, beyond plink-plonk-plink has opened up this evening, as I start to practice these chords, in C. It didn't seem to take all that long for my RH fingers to get into the right shape.  What was even more encouraging, after a few goes-through, the LH seemed to just follow RH, like a wee dog.  

Chords, man!  At first it seemed like, "Oh yeah, there's no way four fingers can go..."  And then... yes they can!  And then...  it's just a question of getting faster.

All of this, mind, with the Native Instruments software which came with the keyboard, and which I've eventually, kind of, got to work through a laptop. I'd rather be doing it on a proper piano.  Speaking of which, the Kemble in the West End is still on the go.  The seller reckons £60 - 90 for delivery, and says it wouldn't need re-tuned when it got here.  I've arranged to see it Saturday afternoon.  

Meanwhile, in other news, I got out on the bike this afternoon for the first time since we moved.  Just to bloody Asda, to pick up a CD of scans of films I'd shot in Shanghai and here ove the last couple of months on the FED2, and took in for them to dev on Saturday.  I've not taken the time to look at them in Photoshop. 

Photography's looking auld and tired compared to the piano's exotic allure, this weather.  There are no comparisons between the two hobbies.  Photography never left me spending a whole evening stretching the muscles and tendons and God knows what ligatures of the fingers, hands and forearms, feeling entirely unusual after a wee practice.  Hours after my first forays into jazz 2-5-1, there's still a warm glow across the knuckles.  

Photography, on the other hand:  I'm a technically adept amateur. But I'm just not wanting to get into situations which might yield good photos.  In fact, apart from noting something, (like the book queue), I'm just not that bothered.  Not to say arsed.  Which is quite something - like admitting a marriage is over, but agreeing to an ongoing friendship, alliance, and perhaps occasional bunk up. With complete consciousness I'm stepping out of something utterly absorbing into something equally so but utterly different. 

Unlike photography, (or marriages), piano has nice straightforward and globally recognised exams you can do.  Jazz piano grade 8 by aged 60.  Why the fuck not?  Grade 1 later this year, ditto. 

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