Music in my life

I'm going to age myself here and mention a TV show that I was permitted to watch when I was growing up, one of only a few. The Friendly Giant. It was on PBS and for me, while the whole show was fun to watch, I was always enchanted with the ending and the instruments that played. One of them was the recorder.You can see what I mean here: http://youtu.be/WV2P6P4p6Hg

When I was in 2nd grade the school offered a class on playing the recorder and for the whopping total of $5.00 a student would get a few weeks of classes, and a recorder to play. Plastic of course, but still, playable. I was denied taking that class by my parents, for reasons that like many things of them, are beyond my understanding. I carried with me a longing to learn to play, or even just have one to play around with and make music. My sister was able to take guitar lessons and was supposed to teach me, but she never got around to it, and didn't take them very long. So, I spent my childhood longing to play something.

Fast forward to age 28. Newly divorced and trying to figure out life, a friend asked me if there was something that I had always wanted to try as a kid, but never got to. My first answer was playing recorder. So, I went to a music store and bought one, a nice pear wood soprano recorder. I lived in a lower flat of a rear cottage on the east side and the other tenant was gone most of the time, so I didn't have to worry about bothering her. (There is no way to play one very quietly.) I started to play and eventually could play by ear, having no ability to read music, yet. I gained a lot of confidence in my ability and even played a duet with the church organ during a service at the Methodist church where I was going. It went pretty well. "Let there be Peace on Earth" was the song. It felt like I had come home to something that I wanted. I went on to purchase an Alto recorder and could play either of them pretty well, again, by ear.

I carried them everywhere I went. I played during a service during a silent retreat. Yes, the same song, but as a solo.

I enjoyed making up melodies, and I could repeat them from memory, having never learned how to write them out. I had been doing that sort of thing since I was a small child, sitting in the back seat of my father’s Robin Egg Blue, 1961 Ford Fairlane with my ear pressed against the metal on the door, humming a melody to go along with the changing sound of the pavement. Something my mother found very annoying.

On another retreat, not a silent one, several of us had brought instruments with us. One man his guitar, a woman her flute, others, some small percussion instruments, and me, my recorders. We were sitting around one evening and the topic came up that we had brought them with us and we took off to a room in the basement of the center. There, we started to play together, sitting on the floor. Since I had become pretty good at making up a tune, the guitar player – who was in a rock band – and I’ll call Mr. Guitar since I can’t recall his name, started playing chords, a simple progression. Someone started playing along on a small drum and then I started with my recorder. He changed keys, something I did not understand how it worked, and somehow, I changed with it and was playing along, just making something up. It was so much fun.

Then, we noticed that our flautist was sitting, watching, her instrument at her side. We stopped and the guitar player asked if she was OK. She told us how she had learned to play by reading sheet music and could do so on sight, having even played on several professional recordings, but had no idea how to improvise. So, Mr. Guitar played a chord, and asked if she could play a note from it. She did, a perfect note, so, he played a related chord and she found a note in that. And so it went. After a few chords, she broke into a huge smile and then some tears. He asked she was ready to try making something up. I remember her saying she was a little afraid, asking “What if I play a bad note?” Mr. Guitar player told her that it was OK. It was her first time and that no one expected perfection and anyway, discord is a good thing too. So, off we went. Sort of a jazz jam session with an acoustic guitar, a flute, recorder and percussion. Some people had just come down to watch or enjoy and have fun, but ended up playing something of percussion or clapping hands or even singing some notes to join in. I don’t know how long we played, and then, started something new and played that. It was early in the morning when we decided to call it a night.

As I look back on that evening, I recall that there was a bond that took hold. Something beyond words or description.

Life moved along and I remarried, this time to my wife now of 19 years, and life was such that I could not make space for playing very much. I'd sometimes go to a wooded spot in Door County, WI and play there while sitting on a stump. The sound echoing around me, bouncing off the trees. Think surround sound, only better. But, after a while, I packed my recorder away and had not played it for years.

Today, on a dreary, rainy day, I felt an urge to find one of my recorders and see if I could play it at all. I knew right where it was and assembled it, needing to clean and lube the joints. Then, came the moment of trying to play. I blew my first note, a C, requiring all holes covered. Yeah, it was a note, perhaps a bit fractured, but a note just the same. This was followed by playing some scales, now knowing what note is which having learned to read music.

Then, something just improvised. That felt great. I remembered the joy of that first time I got to play a recorder, the first instrument I loved the sound of, above all others, and that joyful evening, making music with others.

Now, I make music, singing the notes written by others with an all men’s chorus and truly love that. I've sung with symphonic groups and during stage performances  I play piano, a little bit, having taken a few lessons up to a little less than a year ago.

I might never be able to write a piece of music, except to now write out the melody of something made up on the recorder or piano, but music has been, and will be a source of joy in my adult life. I've found fellowship and connection with others, I've experienced standing next to the composer of a great work while singing for a recording of it. I've seen people emotionally moved while I was part of performance. It's been good.

I hope you find your joy. I hope that music is a joy for you as well.