SYNTH

It already seems like months, but it’s been just two weeks to the day since I walked into Toys R Us to buy a toy keyboard to help me plink out a few tunes for Arielle that were knocking around in my head. The kiddie keyboards, as it serendipitously turned out, were in the same section as the synthesizers, the latter on shelves overhead so you couldn’t actually play them. I wound up studying the controls of the various models, trying to glean what I could, for so long my back started to ache; I’d never seen a synthesizer before, not close-up, anyway. To my amazement, the more expensive models offered over a hundred “voices”—instruments—and an equal number of styles, from ballad and rock to Latin and ballroom. My curiosity piqued, I thought, OK, I can’t afford it, but I could buy one as a lark just to find out what they’re all about, then return it within thirty days for a refund.

But the model I chose—because I liked the particular arrangement of controls—didn’t record, the salesperson and I concluded when we got it down. At least, there was no sign of a record button. Not record? I thought incredulously. Then what’s the point? Even the $15 kiddie keyboards can record! Digging my heels in obstinately the way I do when my intention has ossified (invariably to the detriment of my back), I drove to the Circuit City half a mile away, and, in acute distress, groaned to the salesman, “Just give me any one that records.” When he told me the price, I felt a little faint, despite my firm resolution to return it, but by then I’d passed the point of no return.

That evening, when I was recovered enough to actually sit down and get acquainted with the high-tech gizmo, I tried out dozens of voices and styles—and was completely blown away. Jeez! I rationalized. This costs barely more than a trip to the dentist for x-rays and a filling—and it’s way more entertaining! I knew within—oh, maybe five minutes—that nothing and no one was ever going to pry me and my new keyboard apart. After a few days I moved it next to my computer so that while I was printing out my illustrations, which takes a while, I could swivel my chair and tickle the ivor…er…plastics. Within a week or two I’d also bought headphones so I could practice when Ella was home and not drive her to homocide.

Below is one of the first songs I wrote for Arielle. For the sheet music, go to my Home Page and choose the last selection, “LISTEN to funny kids’ songs.” A button on the music staff at the bottom of the Songs Page will take you to the “lead sheets” of fifteen of the thirty songs I wrote for her.