My mother did not have any musical talent that she had the opportunity to develop, but she loved to sing to herself, and as far as I was concerned, she sang like the fifth Lennon Sister... And as a baby in the late forties, I listened. I listened to the sound of my mother's singing as she rocked me to sleep, as she did the housework, and as she sang along with that huge wooden tube radio with that single huge speaker (and all those curious knobs) that was in the corner of our living room, sitting in a place where the TV would eventually be. That radio's vibrations is what I "heard" as I crawled along on the floor. This was when I was pre-verbal, but I do remember. I remember hearing my mother's voice singing along with that big old radio, and I remember her voice clearly; if I direct my attention, I can still hear it in my head. Who knows, but I might have heard that same voice while floating in the womb. To this day, music from the late forties sounds strangely familiar to me. "Milkman's Matinee" ( http://tinyurl.com/2vbcs98 ) was a sound, Benny Goodman's music was just another sound, but I heard them and "remembered" them. I think I got the habit of keeping the radio on all night from my mom, but I'm not sure I can prove this :)
So as I grew up, I would also sing to myself. When I was eight years old, I remember a next-door neighbor asked me to give a recital of the song he overheard me singing while in the bathtub with the bathroom window wide open. I was singing "The Wayward Wind", a song by Gogi Grant ( http://tinyurl.com/6uckcx ). I remember I was embarrassed to discover that I had an audience. I just blushed and ran away.
So music was always a comfort to me in the same way it was to my mom. I learned to sing along with the radios which strangely became smaller and smaller as I grew older. I think my voice became smaller too; as I grew older I seemed to listen to music more than sing along, perhaps because I was afraid that someone might overhear me and ask me to stop singing. Because now my voice was changing, and my singing was not so wonderful anymore (like Michael Jackson with a bad sore throat). (Just ask anybody who attended my Bar Mitzvah, where I learned to sing a Torah portion at age 13.)
Like my mom, I did not develop any latent musical talents: did not join the choir or learn to play an instrument. But I always listened, and I have never stopped appreciating all the wonderful varieties of music. All kinds of music, including the natural music of nature, the music of the spheres, and the vibration of this Grand Universe --- and especially my own inner voice...
So as I grew up, I would also sing to myself. When I was eight years old, I remember a next-door neighbor asked me to give a recital of the song he overheard me singing while in the bathtub with the bathroom window wide open. I was singing "The Wayward Wind", a song by Gogi Grant ( http://tinyurl.com/6uckcx ). I remember I was embarrassed to discover that I had an audience. I just blushed and ran away.
So music was always a comfort to me in the same way it was to my mom. I learned to sing along with the radios which strangely became smaller and smaller as I grew older. I think my voice became smaller too; as I grew older I seemed to listen to music more than sing along, perhaps because I was afraid that someone might overhear me and ask me to stop singing. Because now my voice was changing, and my singing was not so wonderful anymore (like Michael Jackson with a bad sore throat). (Just ask anybody who attended my Bar Mitzvah, where I learned to sing a Torah portion at age 13.)
Like my mom, I did not develop any latent musical talents: did not join the choir or learn to play an instrument. But I always listened, and I have never stopped appreciating all the wonderful varieties of music. All kinds of music, including the natural music of nature, the music of the spheres, and the vibration of this Grand Universe --- and especially my own inner voice...
