Conrad Black's First Piano Lesson

Toronto has given the world a great variety of things. Some of them are good, like the Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, and my fictional narrator, Geoffrey Haldane; and others are problematic, like the Brown Scale Book, and Conrad Black. Both of these less than perfect institutions have been part of my spiritual jurisdiction for a long time, although I have never been able to do much about them. Conrad turned down my early 80s invitation to invest in the local film industry, and the Brown Book has been frustrating and puzzling me long before that. I keep trying to find a use for it, and almost always have to decide that it's more harm than good. But today, after I carried on with the notation for my scales, and found some genuinely lovely sound in them, plus a few weaknesses in my fingering that I need to work on - thus leading to more useful scales, or parts thereof - I actually found a way to make good use of the Toronto publication, although only if you ignore some of the instruction. One hates to see anything wasted.
This principle of conservation also applies to Mr Black. There is no question of his having the skills for business and administration, and he is also a competent writer, as his book about Maurice Duplessis is ample evidence. So if he were to catch on to a better way of learning and teaching music, he could be a force. Well, as long as he didn't hire the same kind of penny pinchers as last time. Our own daily newspaper suffered a lot of lost coverage from Radler's formulas. And also if he lost his alleged contempt for the people who work for him. I can't say that I admire all opinions of all journalists equally, but I don't see any point in thinking of them as catagorically less than myself, if only because every valid journalist has his own sphere or two of expertise and only a complete fool thinks of himself as a master of all subjects, unless, of course, he happens to be God. A wise man only gets to be wise by becoming profoundly grateful for the information others take the time to share.
So who is grateful for the information I am taking the trouble to share? I mean, a brain like Crossharbour's, if it went to work with the numbers and real digit smarts, wouldn't take too long at all to start putting conservatory professors to shame. And Conrad is an intense man, so his music, given the right formation, might get right up there with all the great pounders and piano wreckers, from Beethoven to John Goodman. (They should have made a series out of "King Ralph.) I'm not being sarcastic. Having spent the last six decades as a teacher and reclaimer of wounded psyches I'm dead serious. How many souls are afflicted and turned to vice because they were born with more musical ability than the system of the day found a way to bring out?
But of course, as with all things, you have to start small and docile. And then you have to stay that way, at least for part of the time. I've made some absolutely huge discoveries, and yet I also keep getting tossed back to the drawing board, because I constantly have to register the great leaps of understanding, the founding concepts; and then break them down into smaller, practical steps for beginners, including, of course, myself. We are never masters of something we haven't practised.
So, for Conrad and whomever, here we go. The X commandments of piano basic training.

One. For now, close all the books and put away the sheet music. You can bring them back as needed or inspired, but for now they can only get in the way.
Two. Double the jail cells available everywhere and put in them all music teachers who break rule one.
Three. Inform these teachers that they will only be allowed out and let back to work if a, they obey rule one; b, agree to have all fingers on both hands except the middle finger, no. 3, tied up and rendered useless. Now, like my previously discussed 140 mile jog, this is a symbolic gesture, because actually the middle finger needs the other ones to be free in order for it to function adequately. This is probably a symbol of wise government. There are more social secrets in bodily design than most men ever think of. They really do have to get rid of the haggis theory.
Four. Get someone - a book can be of help here, but then instantly close it and put it away - to show you middle C. Ammerbach had his points. The letters do have a purpose. I like to be introduced by own name, for example. It provides a precision in the bank and in my medical records. But my actual functions are the dynamic factors. I am a husband, a father, a friend, an artist. All those things are far more interesting than a mere name, no matter how much my mother liked it.
Five. Now forget the letter name and call this key "one." Name it mentally, over and over again, as you thump it with the middle finger, of the right hand, and even sing the note, if you sing, or render it in all the other languages that you know, if you are any kind of linguist. "One, one, one, one." I would recommend at least four beats, initially at any speed that is comfortable, and then at a variety of speeds and with as many kinds of beats as you can thing of, if that is also interesting.
Six. Ah, finally we are allowed a choice. The top kick actually has a grin on his face. At this point, he begins to allow the recruit to exercise his own judgement, always an interesting stage in the development of skills. The beginning pianist now has to decide whether he or she wants to carry on ascending the scale, passing into two, three, and so on all the way up to the eighth key, which is also "one" all over again. If this is the choice, please note that the only keys played at this point are the white ones. No black keys allowed, not because this is a subtle way of teaching racism, but because by the arithmetical laws of the scales, we would not be playing C major if we used a black key. (In C minor we use three of them, so be patient.)
The alternative is to step up with the left middle finger and play the C that is eight notes to the left, or down. This brings up another choice. Do I play the entire lower octave up the scale to the middle C, or do I explore the sound of harmony, by simply playing the two C's with both middle fingers? This lower C is called small c, in some traditions.
The two "ones" together, one octave apart, are of course the echo of the difference in the ranges of the adult male, lower, and women and children, higher. Think about that, and work to be harmonious. And you've really caught on, play two middle fingers together, up and down the octaves to your heart's content, in as many rhythms as you can think of. Left one with right one, left two with right two, and so on.
Here endeth today's lesson.
Oh. I am reminded of Toronto's other contribution: Marshall McLuhan. He must be smiling at all this.