In the far past of my musically awkward youth, a practice room was a place to stumble through scales and arpeggios, to replay difficult sections of music obsessively, to try to fall in step with the metronome, to tune instruments and to drain spit valves.  A practice room was also a place to gossip, to sneak around in with motives of conspiracy or love, to confess secrets to pitying mentors.

No performance.  A fresh start every day.

Welcome to the practice room.


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