Emerging from the Woodshed

We often hear stories of various wunderkinder who, as soon as their pudgy toddler hands become articulated enough to thump keys on a keyboard, play back heard melodies with astonishing precision. In fact, in this, the era of YouTube, it is almost impossible to avoid them. Their parents are all-too avid to monetize the content generated by these Millennial Mozarts. That is, of course, assuming the parents have any love for or interest in music or that there are any melodies heard in the house at all. A musical prodigy may sit and stew in such a household, wondering what the hell is wrong with them. There are tunes (and attempts at tunes) to be heard driveling constantly on television, most unavoidably in commercials, and they prove to be the bad musical currency that drives the good out of circulation. It amounts to melodic malnutrition. Our natural musician might find an out-of-tune piano crammed into a corner of a rec room, only to have Mom or Dad screaming at the child to “knock it off” just as they’re composing the first notes of their Opus 1. They’ve been meaning to get rid of that piece of junk for ages, except that it costs money to have someone haul it away. In school they may have a battered horn stuck in their hands (if the Board of Education hasn’t defunded the music