by John Haymaker
At thirteen I fixated on playing piano like John, Paul, and Elton — the new kid in 1970. But not until I graduated college would a prostitute unlock the secrets of rock music for me — techniques I might have learned from my first piano teacher, Raleigh, a sightless British gentleman. Continue reading
by D. Dina Friedman
As my mother lay dying, we sat around her bed listening to a Bach Brandenburg Concerto on a no-name discount CD.
“Look, she likes the music!” Aunt Elissa gushed. And sure enough, something in my mother’s body had loosened—a small slackening in the muscles of her mouth, which continued to draw a rattled, but rhythmic and regular breath, like the pulse of counterpoint fueling Bach’s twisted knot of repeating melodies. Continue reading