Cream of Wheat

WHO IS MUSICAL?

The Musical Human

Cream of Wheat
There are few pieces of information that people seem more eager to share than the fact that they aren’t musical. One day the UPS person rang my doorbell and observed that I looked like a violinist. I told him he was right. This has happened several times – apparently there’s a look … Anyway, while waiting for me to sign, he told me how in awe he is of people with musical talent, since he himself certainly hasn’t got any. I hadn’t asked, but he was eager to share this information. Once a stranger on the subway who saw me writing music in my notebook just had time to let me know he doesn’t have a musical bone in his body before getting off at the next stop. More than cooking, sports, or anything else, music appears to be the area of choice for asserting one’s inadequacy.

So I wasn’t that surprised when the first thing Judy told me when we met was that she isn’t musical. She wasn’t sure whether the problem was that she never had lessons or whether she didn’t have lessons because she wasn’t musical enough in the first place … Idle speculation - at this point it is what it is. She just wanted me to know who I’m dealing with.

Three weeks later she tells me a story:

“In the summer of 2001, I visited an advertising agency about a project of
mine. After I was introduced to the owner, we somehow got to talking about
old-time advertising. We soon realized we are exactly the same age. At which
point I challenged him to see if he could remember the jingle from "Let's
Pretend," a Saturday radio show that I specifically recall listening to in a
house where my family lived until 1942. I got halfway through the first
line, and he immediately joined in. Together we sang the full jingle.”

She begins to sing the jingle, recalling as she goes …

“Cream of Wheat is so good to eat
That we have it every day.
It makes us strong
So we sing this song

It makes us shout Hooray!”

A transformation occurs as Judy becomes a five year-old, singing with bouncy rhythm and exuberance. Only the voice has aged. She conducts the performance with her hand …

“It's good for growing children
And grown-ups too to eat … ”

Oh-oh, stuck.

“Let’s see … It's good for growing children, And grown-ups too to eat. What is that last part … ”

Her voice and eyes drift off while she rummages around her attic, clearing away cobwebs, looking for the missing lines.

This morning the phone rang. I recognized the Texas accent, still intact after 40 years in NYC. The voice is triumphant.

“For all the family's breakfast
You can't beat Cream of Wheat!”

It is puzzling when people exhibit musical behavior, all the while insisting that they aren’t musical. It comes down to the fact that it’s not about actual ability, but about a perception of what it means to have that ability. And that perception goes on to help us define ourselves in helpful or self-defeating ways. Musical information has an extraordinary way of becoming stored in our memory, and in a moment of recollection like that, can be a powerful reminder that who we were is still in there somewhere, buried under lots of other stuff. A glimmer of hope for our tin-eared friends.