I had just walked into the house when I heard a familiar piece on the radio. It harkened back, far back, into memory. It was a Brahms Rhapsody, a piece I never learned completely but mastered the first few pages well enough to play — effusively but ineptly — long ago. 

I’m in a funny place with what I still think of as my new piano. I love playing, but I don’t like practicing anymore than I did in fifth grade. 

What’s an adult musician to do? Playing a la fakando — the faux musical term my stand partner Greg and I penciled in above impossible runs when I played string bass in high school — is hard to pull off on a solo instrument. 

When I heard the Brahms, though, I remembered. It’s the music itself that makes me practice. Give me a piece I’m itching to master and I’ll put in some time. So I’m rekindling the rhapsody.