Playing Through The Darkness: Music and Mental Health

Queer kids have long found their place in the musical world. Perhaps it’s because sensitivity is valued there. Perhaps it’s the opportunity for self-expression. Perhaps it’s the escapism of performance — the dream of a gentler, brighter and happier world.

It’s probably all of that together. But it’s also because music can be a lifelong friend. For me, music is one of the only friends I’ve had since my childhood as a homeschooled boy in Christchurch, New Zealand. 

Like friends reminiscing around a table, sitting at the piano playing my favourite pieces stirs up many feelings and memories. I remember playing Chopin’s legendary Third Scherzo after a deadly earthquake, thinking of how the cascading notes sounded like the tinkling of falling glass. Even over a decade later, those memories come flooding back whenever I play that passage. 

When the earthquake tore lives apart, I felt that music was somehow futile, like making beds on the Titanic as it went down. I was wrong. Like any good friend, you need them in a crisis, even if they can’t solve the problem. I remember vividly how after my first post-earthquake concert someone came and thanked me, saying “this is exactly what we need — to be transported to another world.” 

‘What I Need Whenever I’m Feeling Stressed or Anxious’

It was also just what I needed the night before going in for spinal surgery. Or during every single moment where, as a queer kid, I wished the world were a kinder place. It’s still what I need whenever I’m feeling stressed or anxious. 

I’ve also established connections with specific instruments. Some have been breathtakingly brilliant. One instrument, made with real gold and worth more than a Ferrari, was closer to perfection than any instrument I’ve played. Some have been downright awful; one such instrument had a key which stuck perpetually —  the middle D. As fate would have it, I was performing Beethoven’s sonata in D minor. 

Like friends, many pianos fall in the middle: beautiful, blemished and brilliant. I recall the battered Steinway at university on which no one else would perform except me. It was not in the best condition, but we had a relationship. I met that piano at the age of fourteen during my entrance exam, and it never let me down. Although it was far from perfect, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Somehow, when I was at the keys, it sang. My heart did too.