Growing up among musical instruments at home and in my parents’ music store, singing and tinkering on pump organs and pianos, I invented my own little songs.
I could sneak off to the grand piano in the middle of the night, trying to play as quietly, quietly as possible…
My dad’s hissing: “Go to bed!!” was heard from my parents’ bedroom.
…and I can still feel the anxiety that I probably, after a night’s sleep, would no longer remember the melody that wanted to be, and therefore lose it.
But I got a small tape recorder. At night I could wake up and under the covers try to sing whispering into the microphone, hoping Dad wouldn’t hear me. The next day I would try to write it down, even though I could hardly read music.
It became important to be able to write music, and I taught myself to do it.