I am a timpani. You are a skilled percussionist, expertly wielding your mallets. Rumors of instrumental mastery excite and intimidate me and as you approach me for the first time, I search for a symphonic focal point. I am weakened by the heat of your hand near my husk enticing me with anticipatory upbeats.
I am breathless.
You lure me with precision in timbre, sonority, style and placement, tempting me with rhythmic perfection. You play me like you know me and as you carry me to a higher musical sphere I begin to surrender to each perfect and previously unexposed profound moment.
I am mesmerized. Continue reading