International Musical Instrument Day

 International Musical Instrument Day.

We all know that today is International Musical Instrument Day. Of course you did. It was on the tip of your tongue but you were reluctant to admit to any knowledge of the fact. But seriously, jokes aside, today is, quite definitely, International Musical Instrument Day and throughout the globe, people are dusting down their violins and tuning the recorders that were once proudly displayed at infant school concerts.

Your aptitude for playing any kind of musical instrument is second to none and, besides, what can be sweeter than the sound of a tinkling piano accompanying a jazz quartet or a classical piece of film music, embracing an equally as celebrated soundtrack to some legendary trumpeter we might have heard at Ronnie Scott's famous venue where jazz sends out all manner of memorably melodious vibes. Then we might have popped over to the 100 Club in London's Regent Street where the likes of Thelonius Monk, Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck and John Coltrane provided a soothing antidote to the day's stresses.

For some of us our formal introduction to musical instruments came at primary school where, suddenly the piano, violin or the recorder were almost compulsory to the daily rhythms of your life when you were a lad in shorts. You can still see your school assembly hall, floor cleaned meticulously and, - or so it seemed at the time- layered with a thick brown sheen. But around the school hall were vital pieces of furniture including PE ropes, wooden climbing frames and one musical instrument that simply stood out from the rest. 

In the far corner of the assembly there was a piano deployed only for the purpose of morning assemblies or music lessons throughout the day. Amusingly, the said piano was notoriously off key, desperately searching for any kind of musicality and clearly lacking in the right notes at the right time to quote Morecambe and Wise, Britain's greatest comedians. But every morning the children of Newbury Park primary school in Ilford, East London, were lined up in front of yellowing hymn sheet that had last seen action at the time of the Bayeux Tapestry and now we sung our hearts out whole heartedly to timeless religious themes.

But this piano was our formative soundtrack no matter how discordant it must have sounded. Some of the kids at your school fell in love with the piano because one day they thought they'd become an essential part of an orchestra or the next Richard Clayderman. The piano is one of those instruments that has become a permanent feature of any piece of musical composition, whether it be jazz, soul, pop or just easy listening late at night. It can be both light hearted and evocative reminding us of some moment in our lives when a special night or party made us relax and smile reflectively.

And then there was the recorder, where, as a child, you were never quite sure what a recorder was all about. Did it have any kind of significance to us and why did our music teachers regard it as so important to our development and maturity in later life? Surely not. And yet it did. Of course it did. The woodwind instrument known as a recorder blew out sweet and enchanting notes that almost became so familiar to us that it became synonymous with our music lessons.

By the same token there was our very striking record player tucked away discreetly in another corner of our school hall. The record player itself was a big, wooden box with a lid and had nothing to commend itself. The sound quality of the record player was almost negligible, practically non existent and always the source of enormous amusement to a class of children who must have wondered what they had just witnessed.

If memory serves you correctly, the record player was only used on a Friday afternoon. One of our teachers Mrs Cole, a delightfully exuberant woman, would take a country and western record out of its sleeve, plonking it on the turntable and here was a very primitive manifestation of line dancing. But here we were as a kids holding hands with each other boy to girl and trying to fathom out why exactly why were being forced to dosido, skipping gently with a very jaunty air and trying to keep a straight face.

In the outside world, musical instruments can be our spiritual guide, our therapeutic salvation when life gets so tough and awkward although we always cherish and love it. Both the piano and the recorder was the starting point of our lives, our first musical references. Then there's the violin and double bass, the life affirming guitar and the magnificently dramatic drums that resound resonantly and purposefully throughout the land. Music indeed can be the food of love. 

Behind the rest of this vast ensemble of glockenspiels, clarinets, saxophones, trumpets and trombones, are all backing tracks to wherever we happen to be in life. These were the first soundtracks to our lives, the playthings we tended to take for granted but were always available. There was something both uplifting and moving about our introduction to the harp, the bassoon, the castanets or shakers which would always illuminate the yearly school concert involving both children and teachers.

But for most of us the traditional social events of the calendar year always remind us of the rich tones and acoustics of the Last Night of the Proms. The Last Night of Proms remind Britain of Britishness, its patriotic grandeur against the usual summer backdrop of a season devoted to all genres of music. Then there's Kenwood in Hampstead, North London where summer normally brings us some of the most magisterial music and possibly the most unforgettable experience any of us could possibly have asked for.

Twice, it's been my privilege to listen to both outstanding film music, classical and marvellously triumphant TV programme music amid the fading light of a July evening when suddenly darkness fell across Hampstead like the silkiest curtains you could possibly imagine. Suddenly, a thousand blankets are spread across the lush green acres of Kenwood house, the middle classes enjoying some of the most expensive bottles of champagne, hampers of pate, foie gras, cheeses and biscuits, yet more wine, lavish helpings of salad, coleslaw and chicken from Harrods.

Then the violins waft across the North London air, the tinkling of a seductive piano caressing the ear like a butterfly from the nearest beech tree that floats past your cheeks. Then there are the cacophonous drums that roll and rumble resoundingly across the lake. Suddenly those mellifluous birds can be heard quite clearly as if on cue, sitting poised on branches alive with their own song.

And there you have it Ladies and Gentleman. Before finishing this homage to musical instruments it would be remiss of me not to tell you another story about musical instruments. You were roughly 11 when summoned to participate in the yearly Christmas play in our school hall. Sitting on a chair with only a cymbal and string in my possession, you were instructed quite politely to hit the cymbal at a precise moment if only to reinforce the impression that something that resembled the sound of thunder and lightning had just fallen on our discerning ears.

 Unfortunately, timing was never your forte so when it came crashing the cymbal at the right time, there was a distinct lack of synchronicity and you missed your cue as the cymbal flew off the piece of string and somewhere into the playground if memory served you correctly. That may be a gross exaggeration but what fun we had with musical instruments. To this day the choice of either violin or a recorder remains the biggest mystery of them all but how we revelled in the musical moments of our lives when we were children. Happy International Musical Instrument Day everybody.