I've been in far too introspective a mood recently. I was thinking the other day about the roots of my interest in music. This is almost certainly down to my father, who loves pieces like Rigoletto and Mahler 4, and my mother's fascination with the lyrics of Sondheim, the singing of Cleo Laine and Barbra Streisand. (I know, I know). For some reason, I wanted to listen to a childhood favourite record Tubby the Tuba and Sparky's Magic Piano. I managed to find Sparky on CD at Amazon, and I had some gift vouchers, so bought it online. Given that I also purchased Kazuo Ishiguro's The Unconsoled and Geoffrey R Moore's Crossing the Chasm, some packer will have had fun in his cod psychoanalysis.

Sparky was so magical. A little boy's dream of being able to play the piano better than his teacher, better than anyone. On stage in concert performances, playing the most wonderful music such as the Flight of the Bumble Bee and Rachmaninov's Prelude in C Sharp Minor Opus 3 No 2.

And then the realisation that the magic has ended. The piano will no longer play for him and he makes a fool of himself onstage. "Sparky, Sparky.... wake up". It was all a dream, but he has received the gift of inspiration - he'll practice harder now.

What a treat - and what ludicrous sentimentality! But with it I too have the priceless gift of music from my parents.

Posted by nathan at October 8, 2002 08:46 PM

i fucking love sparky

Posted by: leighton rose at August 12, 2003 03:30 PM

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