After another mind-numbing day at the office, I arrived home this evening to the sounds of a cadre of concert musicians warming up for a performance in my living room. It was indeed a cacophony of sound, with snare and bells from the percussion family, and a coronet and a trumpet from the brass family. That only three members of my immediate family could alone produce such a sound was remarkable to say the least.
My oldest son has elected to take band this year, and brought home the percussion set. Actually, it is quite remarkable, with his off-the-charts mathematical aptitude and an ear for pitch, he picks up rhythms quite easily, and was playing a selection of music from Harry Potter, the 80's band Europe, and Halloween (a movie he is far to young to see). Almost a natural at piano, I imagine he could play almost anything he wants.
Of course, my younger son wanted to play something too, so my wife got down her trumpet and coronet. Together, they blasted the brass and rattled the windows. Finding that the woodwinds lacked representation, I naturally pulled down my clarinets (I have two) to see if I could still rip a chromatic scale.
Too my horror, and near utter devastation, I couldn't play it cleanly. Not even sort of. The fact that it has been nearly 10 years since I picked up the horn doesn't matter, because to my way of thinking, I should have been able to play a chromatic without a single mis-fingering. Instead, I sounded like 8th grader who skips too many lessons and never practices.
This is no small thing, though you may laugh at my musical misfortune. I am usually not prone to bragging, but in reality I was quite good at the instrument. I've played the clarinet since I was in 5th grade, which was, let's see, 30 years ago (!). I played straight through high school, worked my way to 1st chair, participated in a number of honor bands, solo and ensemble competitions, and so on. I played in symphonic bands and concerts bands. I took a year and half away from it when I started college, but eventually came back to play with the Auburn Symphonic Band, and also with the Auburn University Marching Band until graduation. For the first several years after our marriage, my wife and I would return to play with the alumni at Homecoming. But then came the boys, and life, and I put the music away.
To this day, whenever I hear a piece that I've performed, I am often transported somewhere else, because when I played, it was an experience of total immersion. It's as if I remember every note, every sound, and how my part blends with the whole. Putting that part of me away was a practical, if somewhat unintentional choice. But I've always known that if I chose, I'd be able to pick it up, and continue to play.
Of course, I'm subject to the truth as is everybody else. If you don't practice in 10 years, you're probably going to be a bit rusty. But to be sure, after about 15 minutes, I stopped thinking quite so much and just allowed my fingers to move. The horn needs some repair, but the skill that lies dormant is there to be awakened someday. See there, the illusions I have which were so rudely shattered can once again be reassembled. I feel a little better now.
One thing is for certain. Music (and rhythm) will be returning to our household. And no matter how it sounds in the early going, it will be a symphony to my ears.
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