Why is there a part of me that wants to pick up percussion? I’m the shyest of the shy, and it’s getting worse with age. The drummer is the spine of the band, aren’t they? Forming the bones of the music, flashy and insistent, the captain of the sound ship. Couldn’t be me.
But what about that glorious heartbeat pedal? What about the tympani with their rumbling basso profundo voices that I feel through my seat? The icy, teeth-gritting cymbals? What about the ecstatic tambourine?
Too loud, certainly. What if I hit it wrong, clanging the song off-course? What then?