An elderly piano teacher falls under the influence of Rock music.
|Sederique Sonate, was a portly fellow who made piano benches squeak whenever he sat down. His long nose blocked his sheet music, but who cares; he had memorized thousands of musical pieces. His dreams were engorged with music; upon awakening he always transcribed his nightly preludes and fugues.
"Every good boy deserves fudge! Remember that, and you'll be a Mozartlet in no time!" he told his young pupil, Thom Timmons. The cheeky little imp just opened his mouth and said "Ahhhhhh!"
Sonate would always laugh and ruffle the kid's tow-head, for old people think that youngsters are just a hoot.
Suddenly, Sederique puckered up. The lad played C and G together, and then slammed F, and C an octave up! He could not abide parallel fifths, and that they lacked even a third just made him feel gross. But he kept his composure towards his client.
"We all make mistakes!"
"That's called Rock music! Ricky Rock & the Rollin' Rockers plays it!" said Thom.
After dinner Sederique played the Goldberg Variations, but he could not wipe that new sound from his brain. His dream consisted of a monkey bonking his piano with a rock.
Thom took lessons weekly, carrying his sheet music in a crumby bakery bag.
Mr. Sonate's pad had changed; posters of gruesome devils and veiny eyeballs covered the walls, a bust of Elvis replaced one of Bach, and the walls smelt like stinky people in the park. A Stratocaster with a whammy-bar replaced the Steinway. Thom sat in a beanbag chair, waiting for his teacher.
Sonate burst in, wobbling in elevator shoes. His hair went down to his waist, and he had a groupie in each arm.
"Sorry I'm late, Daddy-O. Tour bus got in a mondo accident. Killed some parents, made an orphan. No big."