No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit. - Helen Keller
Then greatest music ever composed was written by the hand of a mystic…. The Science of Mind pg 328
At age four Michel Petrucciani saw a man on TV playing the piano. He pointed at the screen and said he would like to do that also – the man was Duke Ellington. So the next Christmas, Michel received a toy piano – and at once he smashed it to pieces, saying, “And now, I want to have a real one.” This he got, and Michel began to play, and soon to study. He showed a “crazy love for music.” It made him one of the most gifted and respected musicians of his time or any other, until he left our world at only thirty-seven.
In his concerts, as notes from his piano swirled and danced through the air, driven along by the horns, strings and rhythm of the likes of Dizzy Gillespie, Stanley Clarke, Wayne Shorter and other legends of jazz, no one gave thought to the “disability” of the man at the keyboard, only to the brilliance of what engulfed them. Michel Petrucciani had a rare illness, and never grew past three feet tall, and never weighed more than fifty pounds. His arms and hands being unimpaired, the music of his soul traveled through them.
He said once, ”I see music almost like a god whom you must not cheat. You must keep a clear soul, be sure that what you do is what you want to do…” By a music critic it was written of him, “He is not like we are, but like we should be.”
What purpose have we seen, that has so caught us up in it, we cannot reconcile ourselves to life without expressing it? Nothing as yet? Let us look again.
Today my gifts are apparent to me and through me. Something beckons me to give it voice, as I am superbly equipped to do.
Then greatest music ever composed was written by the hand of a mystic…. The Science of Mind pg 328
At age four Michel Petrucciani saw a man on TV playing the piano. He pointed at the screen and said he would like to do that also – the man was Duke Ellington. So the next Christmas, Michel received a toy piano – and at once he smashed it to pieces, saying, “And now, I want to have a real one.” This he got, and Michel began to play, and soon to study. He showed a “crazy love for music.” It made him one of the most gifted and respected musicians of his time or any other, until he left our world at only thirty-seven.
In his concerts, as notes from his piano swirled and danced through the air, driven along by the horns, strings and rhythm of the likes of Dizzy Gillespie, Stanley Clarke, Wayne Shorter and other legends of jazz, no one gave thought to the “disability” of the man at the keyboard, only to the brilliance of what engulfed them. Michel Petrucciani had a rare illness, and never grew past three feet tall, and never weighed more than fifty pounds. His arms and hands being unimpaired, the music of his soul traveled through them.
He said once, ”I see music almost like a god whom you must not cheat. You must keep a clear soul, be sure that what you do is what you want to do…” By a music critic it was written of him, “He is not like we are, but like we should be.”
What purpose have we seen, that has so caught us up in it, we cannot reconcile ourselves to life without expressing it? Nothing as yet? Let us look again.
Today my gifts are apparent to me and through me. Something beckons me to give it voice, as I am superbly equipped to do.
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