It’s one of Beethoven’s signature compositions, that piano piece with umpteen octave fingerings in the left hand and complicated sharps, flats, and surprises in the right. It’s also a piece that every serious intermediate student of piano attempts.
I’ve attempted it twice in my many years of lessons, hoping to play it better the second time because I’ve become a better pianist in the interim. A month or two ago, I decided to resurrect “Moonlight Sonata” once again. My hands are becoming stiff as I age, and I wanted to engage Ludwig’s sonata for what I believed could be the final time. My piano teacher had no objection.
I set about finding the music and reviewing it. Started on the first of four pages and felt as if I was moving along. My sight reading was better; my understanding of the fingering was too. But on Page 2 something happened. I think it had to do with moving some notes from the left hand to the right to accommodate my smaller hands. Or maybe it was simply an old-fashioned epiphany.
Either way, I found myself not looking forward to working on the piece. I started to avoid it. Then I realized I never really liked “Moonlight Sonata” as a musical composition; what I found attractive was its difficulty in fingering and the challenge of that.
So I went to my lesson and said, “You’re not going to believe this.” I had the feeling my teacher expected me to have had some sort of revelatory moment with Beethoven, one that would make the composition even more endearing, and that she definitely would believe it.
“I’ve never really liked ‘Moonlight Sonata,’” I said. “I find the music rather dull.”
My teacher was incredulous. “Then why have you spent so much time learning it, not once but twice?” I explained about the challenge of playing it. She was still incredulous, but in that moment Ludwig and I divorced. I knew I’d never play his “Moonlight Sonata” again.
However, I’m happy to say my music teacher and I are still together.
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