Shoot the Piano Player

I had this dream the other night, which I’d almost forgotten, but which came back to me just now for a reason I’m not at all sure of. I’d been drafted to be the accompanist for some musical theater production that I was involved with. How I’d gotten involved, and who was producing the show, I’m not at all sure. But we were very, very close to opening, and yet no one could find the score, which obviously I needed if I was going to play. I tried to track down B. — my department’s administrative assistant — to find out what she’d been using in lieu of the score when she accompanied during rehearsals, and once I finally did (she was very hard to find), she showed me how the score was integrated into the script: the music was less melodic than it was about punctuation, key chords being played in tandem with key lines of dialogue. So, next to each line of the script was a little notation about the note or chord or brief trill that should be played. Easy peasy. Now I just needed to figure out what those little notations meant.

And that’s when it occurred to me, as if for the very first time: I don’t play the piano. Have never had piano lesson one.

So I’m very curious, now that I’m awake, what it is that I’m so unconsciously alarmed about having gotten myself into…

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