Today sounded like yesterday.
It usually does. Getting better happens slower than you can hear it happening, so most days feel like standing still.
The change is real. It’s just too small to notice in a day.
It usually does. Getting better happens slower than you can hear it happening, so most days feel like standing still.
The change is real. It’s just too small to notice in a day.
Set it where you can actually play it, not where the page says. Minuet writes down where you finished, every session. Sixty-six in March. Eighty in April.
A big letter, cents below it. You tune by ear and check yourself, rather than the other way round.
Every session records what you played, how long you stayed, and the tempo you stopped at. Enough of them and it draws a line.
None of this is a grade. It’s just what happened.
Your hands take most of your attention while you’re playing. A recording doesn’t have that problem.
Put your first take next to your newest one. Same piece, six weeks apart.
Walnut and brass. A night sky over water. A practice room in Paris. Same app underneath — pick whichever one gets you to sit down.
People put an instrument down when it stops feeling like it’s working. Most of the time it was working. Nobody was keeping the record.
So Minuet keeps it.