HOMEGROWN: Music in Utero
Where do I even start? Ah, in utero!
My mother was a cellist and played Bach Suites long before I was conceived. My father was a pianist and knew all the jazz standards of the 1930s and ’40s, before, as he would put it, my mother was a “glimmer in his eye.” Together, they played music hundreds of years old.
I heard music night and day (Porter) mixed with lullabies (Brahms and Schubert). I knew the words to “My Funny Valentine” before I learned the alphabet. Today, I barely remember lyrics and composers’ names, but the melodies are firmly intact. Now I sing bits and ask my more musical friends to “name that tune.”
The only piece of furniture in our tiny living room was a Steinway grand with monthly payments greater than our rent. As a toddler, I had no idea this was strange. The underside of this monumental architecture was the perfect place to play house. I watched my father’s feet as he worked the pedals and saw my mother’s cello planted between her legs. The music rarely stopped.
Because live concerts were rare, my parents and friends had listening parties to visit each other’s record collections. “Long playing” meant you turned the record over every 20 minutes. No tapes, CDs, streaming, remote devices. Only sober listeners managed to place the arm holding a diamond needle on the spinning platter’s nearly invisible groove.
My mother’s recording of Ravel’s “Boléro” had a scratch on the second side. She would simply play the first side again and turn up the volume.
I never felt deprived as a child; long before the invasive internet and social media, it was possible to live within your family and be absorbed by language, activities and sounds.
My mother dissuaded me from listening to popular music when I was in high school. She thought it would rot my brain. It wasn’t until the Beatles came along that she decided they had lyrics and composition that was not just repetitive pulp. Beatles and Bach are still fused into all kinds of genres today.
My parents were “serious” musicians. I am not. I am a dilettante and perfectly happy to be. I have no pressure to perform. I play for fun nearly every day with others who also like to make music. In 30 days recently, I attended 20 live musical performances right here in Humboldt: classical, jazz, folk, gospel and musical theatre. Some of that music was played and sung hundreds of years ago and it will be beyond my life. It does not get any better than that.
Julie Fulkerson plays the violin and believes that those black dots add meaning, keep her connected and relaxed, and provide respite from the grim news. Email: juliefulkerson@mac.com.
