Level 1: Early Primary School
As I juggle tempo, dynamics, and proper technique—not to mention playing all the right notes in the right order—my brain temporarily shuts off the valve for external worries to focus on musical dilemmas. All my anxieties about the pandemic and the state of the world, my grief over all the changes that have occurred in my life, and my grief over losing people to disease, politics, and change, all vanish as my fingers glide across the strings.
Harp practice has become an oasis of calm for my troubled brain. But sometimes I wonder how my harp is coping. Every time I sit down to practice and relax the strings, I wonder if they’re going to break or if my strain is damaging the frame. That seems way too much for an instrument. As if to express displeasure, the strings on my harp occasionally break. The sharp cracks sound like gunshots.
After five weeks of lessons, my teacher pauses and asks me if I’ve ever considered upgrading to a larger harp. She gently suggests that the one I have may not be compatible with my musical taste, ability and intensity.
“You’re plucking too hard,” she says. “If you want to develop musically and not fight the harp every step of the way, it would be better if you got a bigger one.”
I knew that one day I would probably need to upgrade to an instrument with a larger range, strings and levers. I had hoped that my current harp would last me a year or two to learn the basics, because as harps get bigger, their prices increase exponentially. The average price of a lever harp is between $2,500 and $5,000, while a full-size pedal harp costs an average of $20,000 to $100,000. Now I had to consider that I would have to dramatically advance my plans to buy a second harp.
Level 2: Intermediate
I don’t give my harp the “It’s not you, it’s me” speech – we both know that doesn’t work. No matter how gently I try to pluck the strings, the notes still drone instead of ringing out gently before fading away again.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, I started learning the ukulele. I chose this instrument because it was affordable in terms of cost and lessons. In my plentiful free time, I practiced diligently every day, taking a chaotic Zoom class that was crowded with children stuck at home. But even as my ukulele skills improved, my musical heart’s desire remained elsewhere: the harp.
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I can’t say exactly what attracted me to the harp. I love the sound and the lack of frets. Even if you’re a beginner or haven’t touched a harp in years, the resulting sound is still reasonably melodic. Unlike the violin, it never sounds like a catfight. In fact, neighbors tell me that now that I play the harp, they sometimes stop at my window to listen, and no one complains when I play after midnight.
I had taken a few harp lessons in high school, but stopped when I left for college, moved away from my teacher, and rented an instrument. Still, harps remained my favorite, despite their price and utter impracticality. Modern orchestral harps are expensive, unwieldy behemoths. Pedal harps, the kind you see in orchestras, stand about six feet tall and weigh about 80 pounds. I didn’t think I’d ever play one, and instead set my sights on the smaller lever harp, which uses levers instead of pedals to change keys. From time to time, I would absentmindedly browse online listings for used harps. One day, I saw a medium-sized lever harp with 26 strings that I could afford.
Buying an instrument during a pandemic is no easy feat. I considered ordering a harp online, but buying an instrument without seeing it and listening to it in person seemed risky. I emailed the salesperson and we arranged to meet at a park near her house. Since we were in Portland, no one gave a second glance to the two people chatting at the far ends of a picnic bench with a harp between them. After playing some scales while trying to balance the harp on a bench and finding the sound satisfactory, I agreed to purchase my first harp and we parted ways. Now I had to lug it home.
Harp technique is counterintuitive. My last formal lesson was ten years ago, and my fingers remembered nothing. However, my brain retained fragments like, “Keep your fingers curled! Raise your thumb!” Proper technique seems to be a combination of what looks most graceful and what produces the best tone. Most beginners, myself included, start with the dreaded “claw hand.” I worked on keeping my hand gently curled and closing my fingers in my palm after each note. I played endless variations of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” inspiring a new aversion to the melody in my partner. Playing chords was especially satisfying, as the many strings seemed to resonate with great intensity. My finger calluses grew rapidly with daily practice.
To practice, I have to take the harp out of its spot between the desk and the washing machine. If you eliminate all the places where the harp will be exposed to direct sunlight or a heater, that leaves very few places for it to go. Because of its top-heavy nature, it’s best to squeeze it into a corner to cushion any potential falls, so that’s where it currently sits. Once the harp is set up, I tip it between my legs and lean it against my right shoulder. In the right position, it feels almost weightless. When I pluck the strings, the vibrations travel up the soundboard and penetrate me. I go through different scales to warm up, explore the techniques and pitfalls of the current song I’m practicing, and quietly count the beat. Endless counting.
Stage 3: Late Primary School
My harp teacher tells me about a 36-string maple harp with heavier string tension and spacing more like a concert harp. It’s available here and I can rent it to try before I buy. I balk at the price but decide to give it a try.
As soon as I bring the larger harp home, it feels right, even if my partner is momentarily speechless at its size as I push it through the door. When I play, I notice that with this harp, I don’t have to fight to get the sound I want. The tightly stretched strings withstand the pressure of my fingers as I pluck tunes. The levers slide smoothly up and down. Now I don’t have to constantly stare at my hands to make sure they’re in the right position, and I can focus mostly on the music. The larger stature allows me to sit and play more comfortably – I don’t need to prop it up or use a stand. Unlike its sister, which is small and petite, this harp is sturdy. I joke with my teacher that it could be used as a battering ram. From the first day I borrow it, I know I need this harp, or one like it, to make progress.
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I moved a lot when I was younger, and I still find goodbyes difficult. You’d think that the art of losing would become easier to master as you get used to it, but loss still haunts me, in real life and in fiction. I’d be perfectly happy reading a never-ending story. In this case, however, saying goodbye to the little harp is almost too easy. I wonder if I should be ashamed of my willingness to move on.
My little harp was just right for me when I was just starting out. It stood by me as I worked through various pandemic issues, it absorbed any tensions I let out, and it put up with my rudimentary fumbling. But I was ready for a change, and honestly, I think the harp was too. I ended up selling it to another beginner, a woman who wants a smaller and lighter instrument to play while traveling. That sounds like a much less stressful existence for the harp.
This new harp probably won’t be my harp forever. My teacher is already suggesting that I would really like a pedal harp with high string tension. But now when I play the new harp at home, the strings sound clear and distinct. I am learning to produce increasingly complex sounds, such as glissandi and bell-like harmonic effects. My ambitions are reaching higher heights and I hope to be able to play The Nutcracker Suite one day. I am experimenting with the “Imperial March” by star Warswake up my partner, who recognizes the song even in his sleep. I still have trouble with dynamic transitions, from loud to quiet and back, but I’m making progress. The strings fly under my fingers and the harp sings, happy to be torn from the silence.
I record a video of myself playing “Amazing Grace” on the new harp and send it to some relatives and friends who have asked about my new hobby. I don’t think much more about it until my partner’s mother, a pharmacist, tells me that she’s been playing the recording for people while she’s been giving vaccinations. I feel like I’ve made a tiny contribution to the vaccination effort. I hope the newly vaccinated found it soothing rather than disruptive.
I decide to lug my harp to the park to join members of a harp circle that is meeting in person for the first time since the pandemic began. As I load the instrument into the car, I regret the life choices that brought me here and wonder again why I resorted to such a bulky instrument.
It’s almost unreal to be around people again and to play together. The music comes easily to me – unlike the conversations we have during our breaks. Small talk feels like a tongue twister – the shapes of the words are unfamiliar and difficult. Afterwards I walk away with a bundle of sheet music that someone gave away, various tips for playing the harp outdoors and a feeling of frightened elation, as if I were riding a galloping horse that I can’t stop.
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Level 4: Lower Intermediate
Shortly after our first meeting, the harp circle sends an email saying that future meetings will be held online due to rising case numbers. I’m back to playing alone while everything is shutting down again. The harp music is getting more and more complex, so my fingers don’t have a chance to get careless. Haydn, Bach, Salzedo, Mozart and Grandjany pull me out of the gloom of life on pause. I focus on arpeggios, harmonics and new chord patterns. I have to be precise to produce a ringing harmonic. The sound dampens my fear.
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April Choi is a writer from Portland whose work has appeared in newspapers and magazines in the United States and elsewhere. She has since purchased a larger harp. This story first appeared in Oregon Humanities magazine’s Beyond the Margins series (read the original here).
