Whether I’ve had a busy day or not, I easily fall asleep to instrumental music, often Kitaro or Kailin Yong, two talented musicians whose music is beautiful sound sans speech. And when I settle in with my journal in the morning, it’s often Vivaldi who helps me think. If you were, however, to challenge my knowledge of music, I could not tell you much more than what I like. I drive with the help of a classical radio station, although what passes as new music often causes me to cringe and yell, “Hey, Google, stop!” (Of course, in the car that doesn’t do much good.)
And you would have to tie me to a chair to make me listen to opera. I shut it off if a radio host sneaks an aria into the play list. So, yes, my taste in music comes from ignorance, and from my mild tinnitus that requires distractive melody without a human voice, or I’m distracted.
Maybe I should admit that I once took violin lessons until the instructor suggested gently that I was not suited to that instrument. I tried. I really did. To this day the fingers on my left hand have a longer spread than my right. But doing two things at once with my hands just didn’t work. I’m amazed that I can manage a keyboard, my only instrument. Maybe that’s why I write.