Invention in C Minor

by Jason Patera
March 11, 2024

When I was in my 20s, I studied with the composer David Fuentes, who challenged me to write a one-minute piano piece — an “Invention” — in the style of J.S. Bach. I was a rock drummer who had recently opened up for REO Speedwagon*, so this was a deeply uncomfortable assignment.

My mentor pushed me and delivered (often harsh) criticism. He accurately pointed out that my protests (“I’m not a classical musician!”) were defenses rooted in ego, fear of vulnerability, and closed mindedness.

I was eager to trust a teacher who was well known for his competence (I don’t mean this as faint praise — his integrity and dedication to craft was legendary), and my resistance faded as he insisted that there is much to be learned by studying and emulating the work of master artists, regardless of our personal preferences.

The experience was incredibly rewarding, and I was proud when I completed the Invention. However, I never learned how to actually play it. This had been a composition exercise, and I always thought I’d “get it into my hands” later. My 20s turned into my 30s, and then my 40s, and then my piano playing career ended abruptly in 2022.

I didn’t think about the Invention again until one of my students at The Chicago Academy for the Arts, a Media Arts senior named Malcolm, started encouraging me to share some of my music with him. At first I assumed he was just being polite (I had asked him about his own compositional work, which is excellent), but over the months his encouragement turned into persistence.

I shyly asked one of the best pianists in Chicago, Academy piano teacher Marianne Parker, if she’d be willing to learn and record my piece. Musical Theatre teacher Nathan Urdangen transcribed and prepared the score, and Jack Murray, the director of our Recording Arts and Commercial Music program, agreed to engineer the recording session.

Like that of my mentor David, the enthusiasm and expertise of the people who were helping me was infectious and inspiring, and I was delighted to sit in the studio and watch first-class professionals work hard in the service of a less developed artist’s creative act. It was the first time that I had ever heard a human being play my piece.

While I’m thrilled with how it turned out, what the Invention symbolizes to me is far more meaningful:

The importance of mentorship, and the imperative to embrace discomfort when trying to grow as an artist (and as a person);

The power of encouragement, which doesn’t only flow in one direction between a student and a principal (and needn’t flow in only one direction anywhere else); and

The joy in being part of a community with professional artists like Nathan, Jack, and Marianne. We’re all fortunate that artists like them exist in this world.

*NOTE: “Opening up for REO Speedwagon” sounds much less glamorous now than it did when I was 19 years old in 1995.