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An old United Methodist Church in a small town about fifty minutes from my home enlisted me to serve as their fill-in pianist this summer at $150 per Sunday morning service. As I’ve had major expenses related to my car, the wedding, and income taxes, I jumped at the opportunity to play piano for this church.
Their regular guy is a child prodigy who is on a tour of Europe, playing and learning piano from the masters. This L’il Mozart (he’s seventeen, I think) has been in Salzburg, Austria, at the birthplace of Mozart. It sounds like something lifted right out of the nineteenth century. Kudos to him.
His success on the piano has translated into some extra cash for yours portly. It’s also been an excellent opportunity to hone my skills. For the most part, the music is mostly hymns, many of which I already know, or with which I possess a passing familiarity. The choral anthem, played during offertory, is usually something a bit more challenging, but I’ve managed to get by fine.
The title of this post suggests that I’ve had some wild adventures or encountered out-of-the-ordinary things, but it’s all been quite tame. No choir floozies throwing themselves at me; no old codgers angrily denouncing my Pentecostal-style piano playing; no invitations to Methodist secret societies engaging in weird masquerade balls.
The life of a musician—especially one who is forty and well past his choir floozy days (thank God for that—and for Dr. Fiancée!)—is rarely as glamorous as the movies and rockumentaries and mockumentaries make them out to be. But it is, nonetheless, filled with worthwhile and, very often, amusing experiences.
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The Portly Politico 