I am at East Coast Piano, a boxy, windowless warehouse store on New Jersey’s Route 46, because my husband, David, has insisted.
Claiming your passion
For my performance at Carnegie Hall, I wanted to infuse my music with the same emotion I experienced at home.
On New Year’s Eve in 1986, a crowd wearing pointed party hats pressed against the velvet ropes outside a Manhattan club.
In a one-bedroom apartment of Manhattan’s Morningside Heights, a 1925 antique Steinway grand was the living room’s sole furniture save a small table and two chairs. Perhaps this piano would be the one? I wondered. I asked the owner, Nikolaos Laaris, to play while my husband and I listened.
Around a year ago, when I began studying the Nocturne in C-sharp Minor, I felt awed by how Chopin had packed in the notes a plaintive sadness. In contrast, in my childhood home, although Mom never articulated a rule on the matter, feelings were prohibited.