ANYONE WHO, as a child, was subjected to the time-honoured institution of the weekly piano lesson will know just how dark a horror enforced musical education can be.

Conversely, one of the most commonly heard regrets of adulthood is that of having missed the open opportunity to learn an instrument PROPERLY. A reliable definition of PROPERLY is difficult to come by, but as long as you can do things on your instrument that leave the casual dabbler amazed, spellbound and generally floundering in her/his sense of inferiority, you can probably lay claim to some kind of bona fide musical education.

The rewards of mastering a serious technique can appear great indeed to the unaccomplished adult, yet how tiresome the process of acquisition often seems to the young and fitful mind of a child. Kids, of course, haven't had the same opportunity to learn and fully understand the law governing such belated musical yearnings, to wit, Musicality = Desirability. The proof of this equation is easily had, after all which bloke hasn't witnessed a sea of adoring females crashing up against the rocks of some manfully sensitive lead guitarist in waves of unconditional adoration? And, on the other side of the coin, who can imagine any member of Girls-school being without her fair share of interesting offers? And look at the respect that the likes of Joni Mitchell, Tina Turner or Grace Jones command. No, there can be no doubt about it, musicians are SENSITIVE, they are CREATIVE and they are generally busy out there doing unimaginably interesting things with their lives whilst the rest of us drink beer in pubs and watch telly to forget the banality of our non-musical daily rounds. This is utter nonsense, of course. I know that, you know that, but do WE know that?? As a collective, it's all too apparent that young westerners have bought into the idea wholesale.

Call me simplistic, call me Freudian, but I believe it all comes down to a basic human need to be loved and/or laid as proof of it. To be irresistibly attractive as a mere human being is something of a tall order; there's so much good looking, talented competition out there. But as a musician — you get to be special by default. It's a definite social leg-up, and with the requirements for club membership becoming ever more hazy, all you need is a dodgy haircut and enough bottle to look serious when even you know that what you're playing is absolute nonsense. You must also take care to regard all forms of day job with derision. The dives of London are awash with musicians who are working as a... something else, at the moment. That's fine, just remember, any kind of job is hip, just as long as you don't really want to do it.

Once you're a full member of the club, the question of Technique v Feel must arise. That apparently good musicianship is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration is well established. Our music colleges show no acute shortage of people who can play three octaves of chromatic minor thirds, with both hands in contrary motion faster than you can say, 'Chopsticks', but in whom the spark of inspiration and creativity seems to glow but modestly. Whilst it is true that stunning technique can often mean no feel, 'feel' is often a thinly disguised euphemism for incompetence. A strong and flexible technique is very useful, if not absolutely necessary, structure for the manifestation of any inspiration that might sparkle through. Great raptures of the soul are all very well, but if you can only play E and D, and then very slowly, you might find your musical expression falling frustratingly short of your internal experience.

Today things are arguably a little different. For those who desire club membership but lack talent, feel, self-discipline or parents intent on the proper cultural moulding of young minds, technology might be one possible corridor to success. The technological musical revolution is upon us, and the shadow of the school music room with it's endless scale and five-finger exercises is gradually being lifted from the psyches of the adult populace. The saviour has come in the hallowed form of that technological panacea, digital electronics and the computer. It is perhaps a little concerning, however, that after carefully analysing our musical compositions and techniques of execution developed over many hundreds of years, and having further taken on board the complex and beautiful timbres brought forth from instruments created by our greatest craftsmen, the boffins now inform us that all these things can be described in terms of an, admittedly lengthy, series of numbers — hence digital touch sensitive keyboards and sequencers, etc. It's a kind of reductionism for ivory tinklers. All that artistry reduced to 1's and 0's; is nothing sacred? Helpful it may seemingly be to the hapless, talentless masses, but are we not in danger of taking it too far? Could the very kudos that we're all so desperately in search of — that of being a powerfully sensitive musician — actually be in danger of total eradication? Perhaps, as computers approach the facility of intelligence, we are regressing to a state of artless, mechanistic objectivity in a misguided attempt to meet them halfway. "I am not a number I am a desirable musician! Although at the moment I'm actually working as a..."

Predictably, along with the new technology comes a seemingly unavoidable quota of jargon, and skilful use of this can be as impressive/tedious to the uninformed as a lightning-fast 7/4 arpeggio. Tell-tale intro's to muso monologues likely to be thick with such insulting badinage include, "I've just got this new sequencer programme for my PC but I keep getting a disk fault at 00.01", or for the more general, less techno-intense, simply, "I'm going into the studio next month, atshly..." Listen out and beware.

What machines don't have in any amount is inspiration. Music IS delightfully undefinable. That different frequency intervals and spectral balances should evoke very different, strongly identifiable emotional responses in people, is nothing short of magic. A truly good human performance involves the expression of inspiration which is unique in each moment. To use the jargon: it's a 'real-time phenomenon', and can't possibly be programmed. In any discipline that is essentially unknowable in scientific terms, there is bound to be room for charlatanism, and crass commercial exploitation. God forbid, however, that I should ever be construed as derriding music itself. No, indeed I myself am going into the studio next month... well, you know the score.