Prodigy

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

After lunch, I had Mr. Miner for our studio class. I played the Mazurka for him and he helped me fix a slight rhythm issue I was having on the second page. After that, he asked me how the keyboard class went, and I told him about my little argument with Emmett. He reminded me that I had to act like an instructor, not a student, and I begrudgingly promised I would try not to argue with him. As often.

Once the bell rang, I met Ann at my car and quickly drove her home. I glanced over at the music sitting on the passenger seat. A knot formed in my stomach. Even though I had practiced like crazy this past summer, I was still scared as hell to face my teacher.

Maestro Amelin was a pretty big deal back in his day. He had been studying piano since he was three at a music school in Russia. That's right, his parents shipped him away when he was three. At the height of his career, he was touring Europe, playing some of the hardest repertoire in some of the biggest locations. He had played at every major stage you could think name. The walls of his studio were covered with newspaper clippings about him, pictures of him and other famous conductors and musicians, you name it. He had done what I had always wanted to do, and been to all the places I had dreamed of going. He was an older man now, late eighties, but still teaching. He had been teaching from his own private studio since he moved to this small town. Music was his life, and he enjoyed sharing his knowledge with as many students as he could fit. Recently, his health was declining, and he wasn't able to see as many students.

To even be allowed to study under him, students had to audition for him. He only took students he could work with, students that showed promise. I guess at the age of four, Maestro Amelin had seen a potential in me no one else could. For the first ten years, I hated it and him. He was an incredibly hard teacher. He worked me until my fingers and back ached, he never let me fall behind or take it easy because I couldn't afford to stop working hard, even if it was for a moment. He was always throwing out new, harder pieces every time I mastered a song. His students had a high success rate. Most had opted to stay in state, but every one of his students who pursued music got full rides to the school of their choosing. So even though Maestro Amelin works me harder than anyone should ever be worked, to go to college for free is worth it if you ask me.

I pulled into Mr. Amelin's studio and took a shaky breath. Glancing at the clock, I knew I didn't have much time to spare, so I grabbed my music and jumped out of the car. I hesitantly opened the door to his studio and saw him seated next to a younger student. They were currently playing through "When the Saints Go Marching In." I watched as they played together, her playing the right hand, him playing underneath her. When the finished, I hesitantly clapped. Mr. Amelin turned around and beamed at me. He closed the music book and handed it to the young boy.

"Finn, this is Addison Smith. Do you remember her from last year's studio recital? She played that beautiful Brahms Rhapsody in B Minor." The boy nodded even though we both knew he had no idea what song Mr. Amelin was speaking of. His mother knocked on the door to Mr. Amelin's studio and smiled at him. The young boy ran to his mother and she smiled, waved, and the two of them were off. Mr. Amelin then turned to me and gave me a tight hug.

"It's been a while!" I exclaimed happily, trying to dismiss my nerves.

"It has." Mr. Amelin agreed, his thick Russian accent ever present. Even though he had lived in the United States for more than twenty years, he still had a heavy accent, almost as if he had never left Russia. "How was Bowdoin?" I took a few minutes to explain all the courses I took while there and about my lessons. Mr. Amelin seemed satisfied with my response and motioned for me to take a seat at the piano bench.

"So, I've composed a list of piece requirements for the schools I am auditioning." I began hesitantly. Mr. Amelin extended a hand and I gave him the list. He looked over the list, making a few satisfactory grunts and began to mumble to himself about different pieces I could bring to my auditions. "And I need to start perfecting those pieces soon. I've got to make the prescreening recordings and send those out by December first. And for most of the schools, the pieces must be performed from memory." Mr. Amelin nodded his head dismissively.

"I think I've got it." He said more to himself than to me. He hobbled toward his enormous shelf of music collections. I quickly stood from the piano bench to help him, but he waved his hands, motioning for me to return to the piano bench. "I don't need your assistance. Please, zvyozdochka (my little star), warm yourself up and let me hear one of the pieces you learned at Bowdoin while I search." I followed his instructions and began to play through my scales, each scale increasing in speed as I climbed higher and higher up the chromatic scale.

Several minutes later, Mr. Amelin placed Bach's The Well-Tempered Clavier in front of me. "Turn to Fugue No. 24 in B minor." He instructed. I followed his instruction and glanced over the work. "Do you think you can play this one?" I nodded and he smiled. It was a longer piece, and I knew that memorizing it would be tricky, but I trusted Mr. Amelin's judgment. "Excellent. This should cover one of the requirements for almost all of the schools, and if not, you can use this piece as your choice piece." I absentmindedly began to pluck out some of the notes as he went back to searching for other pieces.

A couple minutes later, he pulled out his second book and placed it in front of me. "Turn to Mozart's Piano Sonata in F Major K 547a." I turned to the piece and smiled at his selection. This would be a blast to play through, and I knew I would be able to have fun and make it my own. Mr. Amelin seemed to notice my approval of the piece and turned to find some others.

The next piece I was given was a beautiful Debussy selection entitled Etude 5 pour les octaves. Glancing at the song, I knew this would be an easier piece for me to memorize and master. "I believe you'll have fun with that one, also." Mr. Amelin noted before looking for a few more pieces to fit my requirements.

The next piece I was given was a Phillip Glass. I had never played any of his music, though I did appreciate listening to it. I was instructed to turn to his Satyagraha and glance it over. When I confirmed that I would be able to try to master it, Mr. Amelin smiled and looked for the final piece.

A few minutes later Liebestraum's No. 3 in A-flat Major was presented to me. I frowned at this selection. As beautiful as it was, it was a recognizable piece. Even if you weren't into classical music, chances are you had heard this song. Mr. Amelin noticed my distress and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I know what you are thinking, but this piece will be great for you to play. Although it is overdone, if you can make it your own, it will be truly special. You must practice letting your character flow into the music, not just playing notes. You are a great note player, but it's time for you to play around with your artistry and become a great artist."

I wanted to protest, but all of these pieces met my prescreening and live audition requirements, so I couldn't. And as much as I detested the Liebestraum piece, I agreed with Mr. Amelin's idea of making the piece more personalized. It also was the only piece I was most familiar with, so hopefully, it would be the easiest to learn and master.

"So what schools are you auditioning for?" Mr. Amelin asked.

"San Francisco Conservatory I think, Manhattan School of Music, Oberlin Conservatory, Eastman, Indiana University, Juilliard, Peabody and Curtis." Mr. Amelin nodded in approval. When he came to America in his thirties, he studied under a piano instructor who also taught at Curtis. Mr. Amelin and I both knew that the schools I would be auditioning for were tough, competitive programs, but he and I believed I'd be able to handle it.

After all, the term prodigy isn't thrown around casually.