The music in my soul sulks and won’t come out. I’m distantly related to both folk singer Burl Ives and composer Charles Ives, but I’m as melodic as a marigold, and I don’t mean the Nirvana song. My father taught himself to play guitar, banjo and fiddle; my childhood violin teacher urged me to quit my lessons. I’ve created intricate and moving symphonies in my dreams, works with complex harmonies, daring instrumentation and layered rhythms. In the waking world, I can just manage to pluck a hesitant tune from the piano (no chords) and sing in several keys at once.
July 3, 2006
100 Words: Cacophonous Confession
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