Hi friend,
When I was about four years old my brother got a piano. The way I remember it is he sat down at the piano and fluent Mozart came out of his hands. I’m sure that wasn’t the exact case, but it’s not far off. He is one of those 1% naturally talented people.
He played classical music for many years and came second in the European Steinway competition only a year (or two?) into first having laid hands on a piano. When we moved to Tanzania, a teacher saw his talent immediately and asked him to be a part of his jazz band. My brother joined an adult jazz band at the age of 14!
I grew up thinking that you were either good at music or not. I also grew up thinking that classical and jazz — where technical prowess was pertinent — were the ‘real’ kinds of music. The most sophisticated kinds. And the only way to be a musician was to be technically impressive like my brother.
I started playing the recorder when I was seven and a few years later flute. I was really good at it — excellent actually, compared to the average. But I was nowhere near the skill level of my brother.
I was interested in jazz and classical music. I loved Roland Kirk and Eric Dolphy and wanted to play like Jethro Tull. I practiced and practiced, but there was constantly this mountain in front of me that grew larger and larger and more unattainable every single day.
Later in life, I discovered that one of the reasons why I never truly improved that much playing classical and jazz was because my heart wasn’t in it. But I didn’t realise this at the time.
Secretly, I loved folk music. All kinds of folk, from traditional to contemporary. I loved songs. I loved words and melodies. And emotional expressions. I actually didn’t care for technical impressiveness, but it’s what I chased, or thought I should chase.
My favourite hours of the day were when I could sit by the piano and play songs. I could sing, but I didn’t have control over my voice and folk music wasn’t sophisticated and so I thought that this was simply something I did for my own pleasure, in my spare time.
I went to a school (in Danish called ‘efterskole’) which focused on music, dance and theatre. I was one of the best musicians there and took extra classes outside of school hours too. We were a small group of musicians who wanted to prepare for auditions for the music conservatory. We had this ear training programme on the computer that we were told to do. It played random beeps and then you had to guess the interval. It made no sense to me and so I made it mean that I wasn’t musical.
I don’t remember the exact day, but I do remember the feeling when I finally decided to quit music. I felt relieved. I didn’t have to fight that mountain I would never be able to conquer.
But music found me again years later. It had waited for me to find myself.
A decade later I got sick with ME/CFS. I had lost my voice and sought out a voice teacher. She told me “I can see you have something to share with the world.” And I did. I went home and started writing songs immediately. It felt like the most natural thing in the world for me.
After about six months I had written tons of songs and mostly for fun.
But then I wrote Where Cold Hearts Go To Pray and something shifted within me. This was a great song! The lyrics were deep and full of imagery and I loved the melody and piano motif. And I thought “this is my purpose and I want to share these songs with the world.”
I had written songs when I was 12 but I had felt so embarrassed I didn’t want to share them. But soon I had enough songs for an entire album.
I still haven’t fully forgiven myself for quitting music back then… well… that’s actually not what I can’t forgive myself for. It’s hiding what I truly loved because I didn’t think it was sophisticated that I can’t forgive myself for. I was busy trying to be technically impressive rather than accepting myself and what I truly love.
Tell me…
Is there anything you still haven’t forgiven yourself for?
Do you fully accept every part of yourself?
What do you feel is your natural talent?
I’d love to know in the comments!
Have you listened to I Can’t Run When I’m Dreaming?
I Can’t Run When I’m Dreaming is a song about the grief of losing the body and mind you once had and all the emotions that come with this kind of trauma.
All proceeds will go to Open Medicine Foundation for vital ME/CFS and Long Covid research. Please consider purchasing on Bandcamp to support the cause.
