My first composition was more of an improvisational premise. I was three or four, playing around rhythmically with the lowest notes of the piano. I never played the same thing twice, but I considered this practice to be a song and called it “Dark Man of America.” I think this was mostly in reference to the character Judd in the musical Oklahoma (he scared me, can’t remember why), but who knows what else I was touching on here. I just loved the feeling of bass hitting my body, and was thrilled by my newfound ability to make very low, very loud sounds. “Dark Man of America” was quickly followed up by “Egypt,” a set melody inspired by Hans Zimmer’s work on Dreamworks’ The Prince of Egypt, and then “Waltz.”
My family celebrated every composition. Three years into this life, I had no reason to feel anything but love and joy for the creative outpourings of my soul. And different families have different focuses, but I think about how much children are generally celebrated — for creativity but also just for speaking, walking, laughing, sleeping. A child’s very existence is wondrous.
What age does that stop being true?
In the grand tradition of the human spirit, I struggle with self doubt. And I have avoided my inner child, the little girl at the piano, for fear of disappointing her. Her greatest wish was to win an Oscar for being in a Broadway show by the time she was 10. My failure to do so stung in middle school, and it even stings a bit now. But, setting aside my failure to win an Oscar for live theater, life has so rarely been what it was supposed to be. I am far off the beaten path, and it is easy to fear that this is for the worse.
It took a conversation with my mother to bring me back to my inner child. My mother easily asserted something I would never independently presume to think — that the little girl at the piano would be in awe of me. And, even though I could not arrive at this thought on my own, it is so obviously true.
Shortly after that conversation, I had the opportunity to create in the studio with a new collaborator. The project we started is not done, but it feels special. I think my child self, or at least my teenage self, would understand and value the majority of the music I have made. But this is the first piece where she was enthusiastic enough that I actually noticed. It is a sort of artistic breakthrough, but, more importantly, it feels beautiful and whole.
I sat down next to the girl at the piano. Now, finally, we are playing together.