We don’t choose the music we love any more than we choose the color of our eyes.  We don’t find it. It finds us.  My husband has a soft spot for ‘90s country because that’s what played in the car when he was just a pair of short legs in a carseat. But then he grew into a teenager and heard Breaking Benjamin and it was like knowing a language without ever having been taught. Freedom, power, the angst of adolescence—all gathered into the furious sound of The Diary of Jane. Then he became a man and heard Hans Zimmer’s score in the movie Inception. Later, he found the folk band Arcadian Wild and then the composer Kerry Muzzey. Other languages he could quote line by line. Tommy never had music lessons and wouldn’t recognize middle C if it was the last note on earth, but he understands music fluently.  Conversely, I grew up with some technical music training and a mom who required that I practice every day. Piano became the ambience of my childhood whether it was Rachmaninoff on the record player, my Tuesday morning lesson with Sally, an older sister at the upright, or an Emile Pandolfi […]

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