Piano Lessons for Boomers

Read this article with fascination. Finally, it seems that boomers have figured out that there is joy in playing music and not just piano lessons. Some take piano lessons as mentioned in this article and many others study other instruments and join the many bands and orchestras that exist in cities and towns.

Susan Pigg Reporter
Andrew Freedman fixes his gaze on the sheet music like a seasoned concert pianist, and plants his fingers on the keys with an intensity rivalled only by the look on his face.
Freedman, 57, has clearly done his homework. The song he’s chosen to play was written in 1893, Time-Warner bought the rights in 1998, and it’s one of the most popular songs in the world, he tells a small group of anxious onlookers.
There’s no mistaking the first few notes of “Happy Birthday” — or the distinctive “sh” word that slips from Freedman’s lips as he makes his first mistake.
It’s one of the most popular swear words in the world.
“There’s a lot of swearing — and a lot of talking to themselves. But mainly a lot of swearing,” says piano teacher Clare Pengelly, breaking into a smile as wide as the keyboard of the Weber grand piano.
Freedman is one of what Pengelly calls her “big kids” — baby boomers who are passionately taking up piano. They now outnumber the “little kids” who flock to Pengelly’s ramshackle Victorian house where two baby grands share centre stage in the bay window of her family home.
They’re busy teachers, photographers, medical experts and investment bankers.
“I get a lot of accountants,” says Pengelly, 51. “So many of them say, ‘I’ve got to learn jazz. I’ve got to swing. I’m not swinging enough’.”
Most are in their 50s. Many have never taken a piano lesson. A shocking number who did are still haunted by their mistakes decades before, fearful of once again having their knuckles rapped.
“They’ll tell me, ‘I hated that. I quit. But I want to start again. I hear that you don’t hit’.”
Freedman likes jazz, and he’s a forensic accountant. He signed on with Pengelly eight months ago as “a distraction” from his intense and demanding job. He’d been talking about taking up piano for so many years, his wife spurred him on last September by having one delivered to their mid-Toronto home while he was at work.
Usually he goes to Pengelly, but she’s making a special call to his house because he’s torn a tendon in his leg, and is in a cast. She wants to make sure he keeps practising daily.
“My wife is very forgiving,” says Freedman. “She listens to all my rehearsing and when I do something right, I can hear her clap from upstairs.”
He knows he’s never going to play Mozart at Roy Thomson Hall — he’d be happy just to bang out a good “Let it Be” or a Gershwin number that brings a smile to someone’s face.
“I’m astounded by the number of people I’ve met who are in the same boat as me. I thought I’d be some kind of freak of nature learning how to play at my age. But there’s lots of us out there.”
One of them is Hugh Ballantyne who was 64 when he started driving an hour into the city from Fergus to take Royal Conservatory lessons with Pengelly. He was going to give it just six months, enough, he figured, to get his Grade 1. Six years later, he’s a Grade 7 student.
Most adult students are looking for an outlet from their jobs, empty nests or a way to keep their brains sharp into retirement, says Pengelly.
“Adults who call say pretty much the same thing — I’ve always wanted to play piano, but there was my career and the kids. Now it’s my turn.”
Twenty-six “adult learners” make the trek each week to what’s warmly called “the Pengelly House of Music” near the University of Toronto where Pengelly’s parents have been teaching music, and hosting piano parties, since she was a kid.
It’s a tradition that brought such joy to Pengelly’s life, she started teaching piano in 1977 and now organizes recitals where her adult students play to the applause of their partners and fellow piano players, followed by wine, a potluck supper and lots of laughs.
“I call us drinkers with a piano problem,” quips one longtime student who likens the recitals to AA meetings where busy professionals regularly confess, “My name is Jeff. It’s been seven days since my last practice.”
“Everyone is so supportive,” he adds. “There’s always thunderous applause, especially if you’ve played really badly, because everybody feels your pain. And the minute you’re done, somebody hands you a glass of wine.”
Commercial photographer Sid Tabak, 59, started taking lessons with Pengelly 16 years ago and was so nervous performing in front of others, he took beta blockers to ease his anxiety.
Eventually he figured out a few survival techniques, like don’t talk to yourself when you make a mistake — just keep playing because the real victory is having the guts to sit on the bench.
“It takes awhile to realize that your self-worth as a human being has nothing to do with how well or how poorly you play the piano.”
Along with patience, Pengelly’s mother cautioned her early to be a good listener — and for more than just the proper notes.
A box of tissues is always within reach for aging students who in their half-hour lesson have an escape from the harsh realities of life, be it a failing marriage or a business on the brink of collapse.
Pengelly still gets emotional talking about a student who was determined to make it to her lessons, even after her 12-year-old daughter — also a student of Pengelly’s — was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
“Sometimes they come with puffy eyes or a lot of tears and I have to bring them a glass of wine. But that’s fine. We do that, too.”
Susan Pigg focuses on issues around aging and baby boomers.spigg@thestar.ca
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