Jean-Pierre Mathez, Editorial, BB 7 (1974)

A child stops in front of a musical instrument shop, flattening his little nose against the windowpane. Fascinated, he contemplates the instruments that seem to be quietly asleep behind it. More than any other it is the magnificent golden contraption that catches his eye. He tries to remember its name, but is not sure: is it a trombone? A trumpet? Or a horn?

Motionless, his eyes held by the instrument, he stands there while inside him the enchantment takes hold of him. He sees himself picking up the instrument – then blowing into it. And the great sound comes forth, the most beautiful ever heard, rising to the skies, dissolving. He is filled with a host of turbulent, exalted feelings.

Behind him people walk by, indifferent, not noticing. The child glances at them: with the golden instrument he could make them stop short. He laughs happily at the thought. Ta! Ta-tera-ta-taa! Yes, if he had the instrument, they would all stop to listen to him.

Then he dances down the street. He knows now. He is quite sure. Coming home he will say: « Mummy, I want to play the trombone! »

Was it you? Was it me?

We all have a little story to tell about how we came to choose our instrument (or did it choose us?). The first contact with it is always enchanted and deeply moving, because it is that unique moment that we have been touched by the magic of music, although – or is it because – we knew precious little about it.

Let us try to remember that decisive moment every now and then, and to contemplate the instrument we so thoughtlessly handle every day, with that same great feeling of hope, joy and spirit.

The magic of music. That is what slips away when one begins to feel so vastly superior.

Jean-Pierre Mathez.

Cookie Preferences