MOUTHING OFF ON A HIGH NOTE
ONE of the treasures I brought home from my wonderful holiday in England was a CD of harmonica music by Larry Adler, recorded for me by my son.
I don’t suppose there are many people around who remember Larry Adler. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard anyone play the harmonica for many years.
This is a pity because it’s a relatively easy instrument to learn and it’s always pleasant to hear someone play an instrument purely for the pleasure of making music.
I suppose everybody now has electronic sound pouring into their ears 24 hours a day, so nobody has time to produce their own music.
I was lucky enough to be brought up before the electronic revolution, so there were many people who played instruments.
It might not have been perfect, but it was merry.
At every party there was somebody who would sit at the piano or pick up a guitar and plunk out a tune for dancing or singing along.
My father taught all three of his children to blow a tune on the harmonica, which we referred to as a “mouth organ”.
He started us on the simple Afrikaans tune, and then we learned to play just about anything, simply by listening and following.
Every year the neighbours gathered for a picnic by the river and after lugging all the food and chairs and water cans and rugs by tractor and trailer to the picnic spot under the willow trees, the dads would braai and the moms would hand out the food.
Then there was a lazy after-lunch time when the adults lay with hats over their eyes and the children paddled tin canoes among the reeds, and somebody would haul out a mouth organ and softly play and other melancholy cowboy songs in the still afternoon air until it was time to make coffee over the coals before packing up for the day.
I suppose if we were to organise a picnic today it would be a silent affair with everybody plugged into Facebook or thumbing their phones and shooting Angry Birds at piles of pigs.
Meaningful stuff, I guess, but I sometimes look back fondly at the time when we made our own music.
It may not have been good music, but it was shared music, home-made and environmentally safe.
Today you could call that sort of music organic. I miss it. Sometimes I take out my old mouth organ and produce a few squeaks just for old time’s sake. It brings back good memories. Last Laugh
One quiet Sunday afternoon when his parents were dozing in front of the television set, little Jimmy became bored and picked up his football and announced: “I think I’ll go into the garden and play ball with God.”
His father looked up and asked,”How do you play ball with God?”
“Oh, it’s easy,” said Jimmy, “I throw the ball up into the air and God throws it back.”