music as memory

dear readers, When I was younger, I was obsessed with music, though not because I was good at it. For many years I had struggled, somewhat valiantly, with piano lessons, playing the ukulele, and singing in the school choir, and I ruined many a great song with what I can only describe now as absolutely diabolical timing. The beat of a metronome still makes me feel slightly ill. This says more about me than rhythm itself, though I remain bitter about the fact that I was very literally being instructed exactly when to hit a note or string and yet still getting it wrong (almost) every time. It bothered me rather a lot, as a young child. My father played violin for years, and my grandfather played trumpet in a 50s band, so music always felt, to me, something that I was supposed to be miraculously good at. Instead, I found myself disappointed that I could not become the kind of effortless, careless musician I saw in the people I heard on the radio in the car every morning. In reality, I…