If you studied piano as a child, I bet you have a poignant piano duet memory or two. Maybe it made your first public performance just a little less stressful (you were sharing the piano bench with a familiar someone, after all!), or maybe it was how you first realized that you were capable of making “real” music, with a teacher filling in your careful, single melody line (Faber Piano Adventure method books, we’re appreciatively looking at you!). All through my elementary school years, I had a dedicated duet partner at my teacher’s studio, with countless compulsory four-hand events for one and two pianos on the annual calendar. What I remember even more vividly than the music, though, is the matching outfits our mothers put us in for each and every one of these. (It was the early nineties. It involved big bows, bold prints and appliqué.) And, yes, although I sometimes envied my string- and woodwind playing friends their orchestras and ensembles, there is something distinctly wonderful about sharing a keyboard. It’s at once small and big; intimate and collaborative.

It’s very nearly impossible to think about fall while we’re just getting into the swing of summer, but as every Portlander not born in Portland (and maybe some natives, too?) knows: Denying the rainy season doesn’t cure that ugh-feeling that inevitably descends somewhere between Halloween and Thanksgiving. Some swear by light therapy lamps, some try the reverse psychology of buying really nice rain gear (“It’s fun to be out in an uber-expensive raincoat!”) while yet others simply up their meds and resign to their couches. There is, however, a healthy, affordable and social way to make a potentially bleak Sunday go from monochrome to multicolor – and that is by investing early in tickets to Eric Lu’s PPI performance on November 16^th.  

When people ask me if my nearest and dearest are musical too, I am embarrassed to say that I sometimes hesitate to respond. Not because the answer is negative, but because, depending on the company, I often feel like I have to qualify. Yes, I am married to a deeply musical man. No, he does not like classical music. (There, I said it.) I am also somewhat embarrassed to admit that this is often the cause for heated marital debate. What constitutes “good” music or, even worse, “superior” music, is a matter of subjective taste – and the fact that I just love getting on my high (classical) horse frequently causes extreme dischord (pardon the musical pun) in an otherwise harmonious household. All a very roundabout way of saying that when the boundaries between “classical” and “not-so-classical” and the question of what constitutes “popular” and “less popular” music appear on the horizon, I automatically fear false notes – and flee to the piano.

On a cloudy day way back in March this year,  I nervously approached the Eliot Tower, like a rooky journalist setting out to interview presidential candidates. The mission? Snagging a behind-the-scenes interview with a VIP within a very limited available timeslot. The subject? PPI guest artistic curator, Boris Giltburg – whom I’ve met on previous occasions, but certainly not in a one-on-one context, and definitely not tasked with such an all-encompassing assignment. What I was prepared for, was to be dazzled by his intelligence and his vast knowledge of the repertoire. What I was not expecting in the least, because of the astonishing depth of his intellect and, frankly, his soul, was to feel like I had entered a different universe through some Harry Potter-esque portal and taken to a distant planet. I had to walk back into reality two hours later in a trance of received wisdom, literally colliding with the mundane on the street. You gotta get to know this guy!

We piano people don’t typically get to share in the same level of mass excitement as our fellow humans invested in major sporting events. How often do we really get to feel the drama, the anticipation, the nail-biting tension of a full-blown, international battle centered around our favorite instrument? At least once every four years, actually! 

Portland, for all of its flaws and foibles, is a pretty fantastic place to live. Yes, we longtimers may miss the old days when Downtown felt buzzy, clean and permanently populated, but despite its metaphorical mood swings, the city is still, like a typical teenager, a basically good-natured kid with admirable qualities. Regardless of some perennial challenges, it’s hard not to love a place that evokes such a deep sense of belonging and emits such joie de vivre. Because, let’s face it: Portlanders may be a little bit weird, but we’re loyal to our core. Portlanders stick to what we love, and we’re not afraid to show it. 

As proven in physics and in romance, opposites attract. That is how, dear friends of PPI, I happened to find myself very recently at Portland’s largest music event space, the Moda Center, not attending a classical concert. Instead, there I was, shoulder-to-shoulder with black-clad, middle-aged Goths, geeks, and everything inbetween, eagerly awaiting the appearance on stage of iconic Australian rocker, poet and storyteller Nick Cave. With his band, The Bad Seeds, Mr. Cave has been as integral to my husband’s coming-of-age and being-in-the-world as Brahms and Beethoven have been to mine. And even though sitting in a plush seat in a darkened hall would always be my first choice for musical escapism and elightenment, I have to admit: There was something about that really loud, decidedly non-classical event that truly moved me. 

When you picked up PPI’s season brochure last summer, you may have been completely unfamiliar with the majority of the names on the program. Angela Hewitt and Ilya Yakushev, surely those rang bells, but for the other recitals you probably just trusted our judgment blindly and came to support us anyway. We’re so very grateful that you did. After attending the performances and reading our season recap, we hope you feel grateful to your past self, too! 

There’s a wonderful word in Dutch that really belongs in the English language (if we could adopt coleslaw and cookie, why not?) – the straightforward, unembellished verb NAGENIETEN.