Encounter with a connoisseur

Playing for infants is always a special experience. It is the only time when I can decide what to play without having to worry about age-appropriateness and cultural preferences. It is almost as if infants are the wisest of all--whatever you play, they understand. One can, of course, take a cynical look at it and say that whatever you play, they do not care. They keep on sleeping, or staring, or exercising their little arms and legs in random motions. Who really knows what goes on in those tiny little heads?

I played for a little fella last night, who was about 2 months old. His eyes were closed, and his hands curled slightly before his torso, like all babies do. He had soft black hair on the top of his head, and looked like a short, goofy old man (I mean that in the most endearing way). I could not tell if he was already asleep because even though his eyes were closed, he moved his arms and legs once in a while, side to side, like a dance. It was impossible to look at this baby and not smile. He had such a comedic air about him.

I played Brahms' lullaby to him on the D string, and the violin sang softly like a mother to her child. "Mi mi sol...mi mi sol...mi sol do si-la la sol..." To my surprise and delight, those little cheeks suddenly rose slightly, the mouth extended to either side, and a toothless smile surfaced. I noted that he smiled only when the melodic line went up (when there is supposedly more excitement in the melody), and when it went down to lower notes the cheeks came back down and the sweet, satisfying smile disappeared momentarily. Wanting to make sure that my primary assessment was correct, I played the piece again, this time on a higher register. The same thing happened again. He opened his eyes lazily at some point to look at me, then shut them again. Each rise in melody still brought forth a satisfying little grin.

I will never know how many future musicians I have played for. None of them will ever remember that their first encounter with music was in a cold and lonely place called the pediatric intensive care unit.