On the outset of this post, the author would like to state that the anecdotes used have been exaggerated for comic effect, but even though they do not completely adhere to reality, the author is confident that university–and particularly conservatoire–students having to learn online will resonate with them to some degree (no pun intended).
Love to all persons who have inspired this little post.
Except you, Boris. Make up your mind.
5th January 2021
Boris Johnson plunges England into a third national lockdown in a desperate attempt to save the nation from irredeemable disaster. In one brief stroke, all the carefully stacked and placed Tiers, documenting all the “Do”s and “Don’t”s for obviously rule-abiding English citizens, are swept to the ground and instantly disintegrate into history. In its place is the massive slab of marble marked “National Lockdown”. Immovable, unquestionable, non-negotiable.
The difference to last lockdown? Schools closed indefinitely. All of them. No, no, I don’t mean a holiday. You still have to go to school. It’s just…you can’t go to school. Get it?
Online learning, goddammit. It’s so obviously the solution, how can you not get it?
Extract from a letter from Michelle Donelan MP to all English university students:
“Throughout the pandemic we have seen universities develop innovative and dynamic online learning and whilst we all want to see a return to face to face teaching, it is very much the case that online does not have to mean inferior. The government remains clear that that the quality and quantity of taught hours must be maintained and that all learning must be accessible.”
Extract from an email from a certain person in the administrative department of my conservatoire when I raised my concerns about online teaching:
“I will not pretend for a second that we would not all rather be face to face but do feel compelled to observe that we found the experience of enforced online teaching last academic year yielded unexpected benefits as well as challenges, namely often a heightened concentration and sense of the student listening to their own playing more keenly.”
24th February 2021
It has been God knows how many days since the announcement of the current national lockdown in the UK, which is the third of its kind. For many, online learning has been going on for as long as they can remember. Luckily for me, I got to taste some socially distanced teaching in the first term of my time at Guildhall.
But before my brain facilities become completely dulled by this lockdown, and I am desensitized by how surreal this situation is, let me read for you an excerpt from the diary of a student studying at conservatoire….online.
Day I-have-no-clue-every-day-runs-into-each-other-what-is-the-point-of-weekends-what-is-a-week-even:
7.30 am. First alarm.
What is the point?
8.00 am. Second alarm.
Seriously, what is the point?
8.30 am. Third alarm.
Alright, fine. Let’s see what I have for today. Oh, 70% of UK adults vaccinated? Nice. Wait, 1200 deaths still? How? Someone explain to me how this works, please. More people are getting vaccinated, yet more people are dying? And this new variant is like, what, unstoppable? So what’s the point of a vaccine if it’s not really effective? I need a coffee. Wait, why did I wake up in the first place? Oh yeah, gotta check what I have on today.
Improvisation at 9.30 am. That’s calm. My keyboard’s right there, I can go back to bed.
Oh wait, that’s right: coffee.
9.34 am. Online improvisation class.
Oh God, I don’t even have to leave my own room to attend class, how am I still four minutes late? Alright, let’s quickly log on to Zoom and join the meeting.
Oh shit! I haven’t made my bed, and my clothes are everywhere. How have I not noticed this fresh pimple on my right cheek before? Oh well, too late, my face has entered public domain, and my dignity is put on display, if I have any to spare. I had so much time to prepare for this moment, yet here I am, looking the worst I can possibly be.
Teacher’s already speaking. Something about passing one phrase to another person, retaining the motivic elements of the phrase…oh no, not ping pong!* Fine, just don’t pick me, at least not this turn.
*Ping pong: a warm-up game in improv class where one player improvises a melodic phrase and passes it onto another player. The difficulty is you have to make it up on the spot (improv, duh!) and not really hesitate.
Of course it’s me. When have I ever been the lucky one? Alright, chill out, everything’s going to be fine. I am literally playing one short phrase to a screen with sixteen faces on it, how scary can that be?
Alright, here it comes. Oh God, my mind is literally blank. What should I improvise? Does that question even make sense, or is it paraxodical? Ah! Cadence* is coming; shit; should I pause before I start, to account for delay? Yeah, maybe like one second. Alright, here goes. Just play anything, literally anything that comes up in your mind.
*Every phrase must end on a cadence in order for the next person to continue with a new one.
Well, that was terrible. Stuck in a limbo between a terrible attempt at Mozart’s style and a very uncertain go at polytonality. Oh well, at least I finished the phrase off.
Wait; why isn’t anyone following after my phrase?
Why are they talking? They can’t what?
Oh shit.
Shit.
I’ve muted myself.
I’ve actually muted myself.
It’s so hot in here. My face is going to burst with heat.
That’s it. I think I’m going to call it quits with my piano career. I have just managed to embarrass myself by playing the piano to a computer screen. I have reached a new level of stage fright; I don’t even need a stage.
I shall question my own existence for the rest of this zoom class.
11 am. (Offline) breakfast.
Playing the piano does not count as exercise. Playing the piano does not count as exercise. You do not exercise. You are currently stuffing your face with Nutella and peanut butter. That is not breakfast. That is pure fat.
I repeat: you do not exercise.
You are a fat piece of shit.
1.30 pm. Online individual piano lesson.
Improv might have gone terribly, but this is what really matters. I had literally nothing else to do but practise this week. This cannot go wrong.
At least I’m not late. Wow, good start, Jeremy. How about a pat on the back?
*turns on Zoom meeting*
Yes, I can hear you perfectly. Can you hear me? Great! I want to start with Bach’s Partita today. Yes, I recently finished learning the whole partita, and I want to try and play it from start to finish today, is that okay with you?
Great. Unmuted? Check.
I had to double-check. We’re not talking about one phrase this time. It’s twenty minutes’ worth of playing. There’s a lot at stake.
Alright, here goes.
1.55 pm. After running through a complete Partita.
Wow, that actually went pretty well! I’m actually satisfied. This is not a familiar feeling, trust me, but it definitely feels good.
So, what did you think, miss–
Where’s her face? Where the hell is the zoom meeting window?
15 minutes later. Zoom meeting reopens and my teacher’s face pops up.
The following is a transcript of the next twenty minutes of my piano lesson:
Teacher: I’m so sorry, Jeremy! My laptop crashed while you were playing the Bach. I don’t understand what happened, you know me with technology.
Me: That’s alright, miss, (aside) I only spent two hours a day every day of this week working on this and only did a runthrough just now that has drained my energy for most of the rest of the lesson before realizing none of that made it through to the other side, but that’s absolutely fine.
Teacher: I did manage to hear a bit of the prelude–
Me: (aside) A bit of the prelude? As in a little bit of the shortest movement out of the seven movements which make up the whole piece? As in ONE out of the TWENTY minutes I played?
Teacher: –so why don’t we start with that?
Me: Yeah, sure, no problem! Sounds stellar!
Teacher: Alright, let me start by giving a few comments. I personally think–
Pause. Teacher’s screen freezes.
Me: Yes?
Pause.
Me: Miss?
Teacher: (resumes speaking and gesticulating but sound is way ahead of her actions) –so you should probably emphasize that section a little bit more. (keeps gesticulating even though she isn’t speaking anymore because audio is out of sync with video)
Me: (uncertain whether I should wait for her movements to cease before speaking or whether I should reply straight after I hear the question) Mm-hmm.
Teacher: Hello? Do you understand what I’m saying?
Me: I’m sorry, miss, I couldn’t hear the bit before you said I should emphasize a certain section more. Maybe it’s a problem with my wifi (aside) it’s totally not my wifi (to Teacher) but could you repeat that again?
Teacher: Jeremy? Sorry, I didn’t really catch that. It must be the signal strength. Can you ask again?
Me: I was just wondering if you could repeat what you just said, miss.
Teacher: I said it must be the signal strength. Is that it?
Me: (aside) I give up. (To Teacher) Yes, sure, thank you!
Teacher: Alright then, can you please apply what I’ve just said to the beginning bit of the Prelude?
I play the beginning of the Prelude just as I did before. I turn again to the screen.
Teacher: I’m sorry, Jeremy. It sounded choppy and cut off; I could only hear bits of it. It must be the wifi. Do-
Pause. Screen freezes.
I know better than to speak this time, so I just wait until the screen unfreezes.
One minute later…
Screen unfreezes. Teacher is sitting still, waiting expectantly.
Teacher: So?
Me: Sorry, miss. Wifi problems. Could you say that again?
Teacher: (sighs) Do you mind playing that bit again?
Me: (mustering a smile through existential pain) Yes, of course.
6.03 pm. Online mindfulness session.
I pour myself a cup of ginger tea. I light a mandarin-scented candle. Time to settle down and enter into meditation mode.
In the dimness of the room, the rhythm of the flickering flames pulses steadily on the walls as my body calms down and the noise outside fades into a faint hum. The harsh sounds of traffic and conversation diffuse into ambient waves, approaching and receding, as I bask in the warm glow of the laptop screen.
I am three minutes late, but that’s okay. In mindfulness sessions, the most important thing is to be gentle and kind to yourself.
I turn on Zoom.
They have already started meditating.
Nine floating heads, one in each window, greet me. Their eyes are closed and their microphones are muted. All is still except for the almost imperceptible sway of the heads. All is silent except for the peaceful wind noise from one of the Zoom windows.
Closing my eyes, I blend into the screen, becoming one of the floating heads. The ten of us leave our bodily vessels swaying to the subtle yet persistent rhythm of the background noise while we dive deep into our consciousness, exploring sensations from the tip of our toes to the crown of our head.
I hear a voice. It ripples through my consciousness not as an intruder, but as something within.
“Take a deep breath, and on your exhale, let your breath travel to the area around the right thigh. What are the sensations here? Be gentle to yourself, don’t hurry, and listen to your body.”
I feel a little tingly sensation there. It’s a warm, slightly fuzzy feeling, like when you let your hands hover just above the water in a swimming pool, and droplets touch different parts of your palm and fingers, forming a link between your hand and the water. Tickly. The pool is shallow, and the water a shade of turquoise. My fingers are greasy, and the oil mixes with the water, forming a lotion-like. The Thailand sun is beating gently down. We had lobsters and fries by the beach that summer. I didn’t care about keeping fit. Exercise didn’t become a conscious thing until sixth grade, when for a year fat wasn’t just an adjective; it was my existence.
“Let your consciousness travel to your shoulders…”
Clash of Clans after school, on the school bench, when we can untuck our shirts and loosen our ties. The afternoon is cool and breezy. It makes me drowsy. I hear the sound of distant shouting, basketball dribbling, the whack of a bat. The wind dries the sweat on my body after PE. I enjoy the gentle caress of the breeze on my face. I also desperately need a shower, but the breeze is nice, so nice, like Jeremy. Sitting there, calm, like Jeremy.
“Jeremy.
“Jeremy.”
Yes?
I open my eyes again. Nine faces are staring at me through their windows. One of their mouths is moving.
“It appears you have fallen asleep.”
Oh yes, here I am, in my own room, meditating to my laptop.
Literally Left-handed 
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