The battered accordion lay abandoned in the derelict building. Kicked round the site by kids too young to know its history, spat and pissed on by drunks after a night out.
It served as a pillow for a homeless man.
david lloyd
Why does this always bring up accordion. How about a new word please. I really don’t want to have to sign up for another username and password. But that is what our world has come to… Everyone wants you to be a member, create a username and password… Even grocery stores for crying outload. You either sign up and become a member or pay $50 for a box of Cheerios… Your choice?
Ryan Montague
What a funny word accordion. The first thing I tend to think of is a nerdy person playing it on a stage. Long curly hair and doing strange polka parodies.
Breathing felt like the bellows of an accordion, bellows that is that had a huge hole torn in the bottom. He couldn’t catch his breath, not after the gut shot that he knew he deserved. It was only a matter or time now and the pain would simply increase. He had cheated the system and tricked his way through, but he always knew he would pay for it in the end.
manwhoknew
Harp and bow. Dials with keys and steam that’s only air. Wailing on and on in a flexible fashion. Under-appreciated.
Ian
I hate accordion music. It’s annoying to b honest l. Not only that but he plays the accordion. And by he I mean the creepy guy across the street. He’s young but still older than me by five years atleast. He’s got sunken in eye and a shark tooth grin.
But anyway back to why I hate the accordion. It’s loud and creaky sounding. I just hate it. I told mom that too. And I think just because I told her I hated it, she signed me up for lessons with the creepy guy across the street. Just to see me squIrk because that’s the kind Of woman my mom is.
the jazz musicians were in a quandary. they did not know what to do. they had a musician wish to join their quartet but he only knew how to play the accordion. they did not have any music that included the accordion. the accordionist join the group as a trial and brought his own music. he called it Jewish jazz music. it clicked and now they are the most popular jazz quintet in the region.
j.renee
He stands on the street corner, fingers gliding over grimy keys, dancing and clopping about to music that makes others cover their ears and snicker as they walk past. And still, he dances and plays, banging on the keys until he is lost, gone in a world where accordions are beautiful and he is a millionaire, dancing to music the rest of us are too close-minded and self-absorbed to hear.
It is beautifully awkward, this moment is. We’re sitting in a cafe somewhere on the edge of the island (you’ve never been before and so here we are), staring into our fogged glasses of boxed lemonade, and I can’t tell if the music or the atmosphere is worse. Or perhaps it is the shutter-like print of your shirt, clinging to your volumtuous bosom in a most unflattering fashion, that makes my toes curl in my man-sandals in a minute display of disgust. Or perhaps it is even your newest hairdo, all of your greasy dark hair piled atop your head and badly curled to resemble the folds of an accordion. There is no mystery, only beige tolerance for our predicament.
Bill’s mom knew how to play the accordion. She used to be a music teacher when she was younger, and lately she had been itching to play music again. Her arthritis made it difficult for her to play most instruments, but she had always had a fondness for the accordion. Also, they needed an accordion for a part in their church choir for one of the songs they were playing. She searched high and low, but couldn’t quite find one that fit into her budget and yet was in good enough condition to play with. So she called us, and set us upon a search for her. An accordion is not an easy instrument to find nowadays. Contrary to popular belief, playing an accordion is not the “cool” thing to do – and nobody really listens to polka music anymore.
Joey
a musical instrument to play. people from weird cultures play the accordion. how about cajun music? i like some cajun music. it’s like cartoon characters playing music. you get a lot of other neat instruments with cajun music like spoons and washboards. although you can also use those instruments in old time country music.
jen
Accordions are ridiculous. That was an axiom I refused to reconsider, soldered into place from a childhood tainted by bad polka music. But that was self-evident, too. You couldn’t make that instrument sound tuneful if you tried.
These are the thoughts I entertained from the city sidewalk, before I was stopped in my tracks by the bellows of that same irksome contraption. It was impossible, I protested, but there he was, idling at the junction of Washington and Main, an infernal squeezebox between his liver-spotted hands.
I was vexed. Who plays an accordion on a street corner? Even worse, who plays an accordion where I can hear it? It was offensive, and I strongly considered letting the old man know, when my bitter glare caught sight of his fingers.
It was… astounding. For a moment my thoughts were silenced by the deft motions of his hands, dancing over the tiny keys with unexpected grace. For a moment I was transfixed, and in spite of my youthful enmity I found myself feeling genuine admiration for not only the man, but also for the accordion– the accordion!– as its lilting melody sang warmly in the smog-bitten air.
That’s when I realized the air was now quiet, the instrument still, kind eyes fixed on my face. I coughed, feeling sheepish, and tossed a tenner into his hat as I slid away.
His grateful thank-you reached my reddened ears without affront and I couldn’t help but smile.
Speak for yourself, old man.
I guess accordions weren’t so stupid after all.
The battered accordion lay abandoned in the derelict building. Kicked round the site by kids too young to know its history, spat and pissed on by drunks after a night out.
It served as a pillow for a homeless man.
Why does this always bring up accordion. How about a new word please. I really don’t want to have to sign up for another username and password. But that is what our world has come to… Everyone wants you to be a member, create a username and password… Even grocery stores for crying outload. You either sign up and become a member or pay $50 for a box of Cheerios… Your choice?
What a funny word accordion. The first thing I tend to think of is a nerdy person playing it on a stage. Long curly hair and doing strange polka parodies.
Breathing felt like the bellows of an accordion, bellows that is that had a huge hole torn in the bottom. He couldn’t catch his breath, not after the gut shot that he knew he deserved. It was only a matter or time now and the pain would simply increase. He had cheated the system and tricked his way through, but he always knew he would pay for it in the end.
Harp and bow. Dials with keys and steam that’s only air. Wailing on and on in a flexible fashion. Under-appreciated.
I hate accordion music. It’s annoying to b honest l. Not only that but he plays the accordion. And by he I mean the creepy guy across the street. He’s young but still older than me by five years atleast. He’s got sunken in eye and a shark tooth grin.
But anyway back to why I hate the accordion. It’s loud and creaky sounding. I just hate it. I told mom that too. And I think just because I told her I hated it, she signed me up for lessons with the creepy guy across the street. Just to see me squIrk because that’s the kind Of woman my mom is.
the jazz musicians were in a quandary. they did not know what to do. they had a musician wish to join their quartet but he only knew how to play the accordion. they did not have any music that included the accordion. the accordionist join the group as a trial and brought his own music. he called it Jewish jazz music. it clicked and now they are the most popular jazz quintet in the region.
He stands on the street corner, fingers gliding over grimy keys, dancing and clopping about to music that makes others cover their ears and snicker as they walk past. And still, he dances and plays, banging on the keys until he is lost, gone in a world where accordions are beautiful and he is a millionaire, dancing to music the rest of us are too close-minded and self-absorbed to hear.
It is beautifully awkward, this moment is. We’re sitting in a cafe somewhere on the edge of the island (you’ve never been before and so here we are), staring into our fogged glasses of boxed lemonade, and I can’t tell if the music or the atmosphere is worse. Or perhaps it is the shutter-like print of your shirt, clinging to your volumtuous bosom in a most unflattering fashion, that makes my toes curl in my man-sandals in a minute display of disgust. Or perhaps it is even your newest hairdo, all of your greasy dark hair piled atop your head and badly curled to resemble the folds of an accordion. There is no mystery, only beige tolerance for our predicament.
Bill’s mom knew how to play the accordion. She used to be a music teacher when she was younger, and lately she had been itching to play music again. Her arthritis made it difficult for her to play most instruments, but she had always had a fondness for the accordion. Also, they needed an accordion for a part in their church choir for one of the songs they were playing. She searched high and low, but couldn’t quite find one that fit into her budget and yet was in good enough condition to play with. So she called us, and set us upon a search for her. An accordion is not an easy instrument to find nowadays. Contrary to popular belief, playing an accordion is not the “cool” thing to do – and nobody really listens to polka music anymore.
a musical instrument to play. people from weird cultures play the accordion. how about cajun music? i like some cajun music. it’s like cartoon characters playing music. you get a lot of other neat instruments with cajun music like spoons and washboards. although you can also use those instruments in old time country music.
Accordions are ridiculous. That was an axiom I refused to reconsider, soldered into place from a childhood tainted by bad polka music. But that was self-evident, too. You couldn’t make that instrument sound tuneful if you tried.
These are the thoughts I entertained from the city sidewalk, before I was stopped in my tracks by the bellows of that same irksome contraption. It was impossible, I protested, but there he was, idling at the junction of Washington and Main, an infernal squeezebox between his liver-spotted hands.
I was vexed. Who plays an accordion on a street corner? Even worse, who plays an accordion where I can hear it? It was offensive, and I strongly considered letting the old man know, when my bitter glare caught sight of his fingers.
It was… astounding. For a moment my thoughts were silenced by the deft motions of his hands, dancing over the tiny keys with unexpected grace. For a moment I was transfixed, and in spite of my youthful enmity I found myself feeling genuine admiration for not only the man, but also for the accordion– the accordion!– as its lilting melody sang warmly in the smog-bitten air.
That’s when I realized the air was now quiet, the instrument still, kind eyes fixed on my face. I coughed, feeling sheepish, and tossed a tenner into his hat as I slid away.
His grateful thank-you reached my reddened ears without affront and I couldn’t help but smile.
Speak for yourself, old man.
I guess accordions weren’t so stupid after all.