When we lived in Ann Arbor, the violinist who lived above us would sometimes practice during the day. It was especially nice when I was weeding the garden bed out front.
Eventually we moved to the Collins house in Castle Rock. The Brick, an accomplished pianist, enjoyed playing so loud that the windows rattled sometimes. It was glorious -- but we didn't think much about it until a neighbor asked, "Is he going to practice again tonight? We really like listening to him." (Rachmaninoff was on the menu that night.)
We should have charged for tickets.
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