Frances Whiting: Do NOT annoy the recorder people. Just don’t

A few weeks ago I made disparaging remarks about the recorder, a musical instrument which I thought had no fans, writes Frances Whiting. I was wrong.

Don’t mess with the recorder people. (Pic: iStock)

DO NOT ANNOY THE RECORDER PEOPLE. I repeat, do not annoy the recorder people.

Some of you may recall that a couple of weeks ago I wrote about my daughter learning to play the recorder, a musical instrument I subsequently disparaged, pooh-poohed even, on the grounds it sounds how I imagine the entrance bell into the gates of hell might.

I then further opined (for when you have an opinion column, this, my friends, is what you must do, opine all over the shop) that no-one, but no-one, picked up a recorder again after their compulsory years of learning it in primary school were over.

Further, I also asserted that no-one ever got together for casual jam sessions on this particular instrument.

Only, it turns out, they do, and there’s quite a lot of them out there doing it.

How do I know?

Because they ALL wrote to me.

That’s right, it turns out that the recorder, far from being the instrument of torture I painted, has quite the following.

Does it really sound like the entrance bell into the gates of hell? Don’t tell the recorder people that. (Pic: iStock)

There are jazz recorder quartets out there, baroque groups, soloists, rock recorder bands, classical trios, recorder ensembles, and quite a few others who, as one reader told me “just like to get together on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and play a bit of ‘cord.”

That’s right — ‘cord.

Who knew?

Clearly not me, and while it’s never a nice feeling to be wrong — thankfully it happens to me on so very few occasions — the thing is, I’ve never been told I’m wrong so nicely.

When you’re a columnist and people don’t like something you’ve said, or believe you to be wrong, they don’t generally begin their missives to you with “Dear Frances, hope you are keeping well! Firstly, thank you so much for bringing the humble recorder into the public eye. The instrument I so love rarely gets any publicity!”

No, generally when someone’s unhappy with something I have written, it’s more along the lines of “Dear Frances, tell your Dad — the editor of the paper because how else could you get a #$%#$% job? — that you suck.”

Incongruously, these writers often end their letters with something like PS “Love the new photo!”

I can’t even pretend to understand why.

But the recorder people!

While defending their instrument vigorously, and pointing out the various sweeping generalisations in my piece, they did so gently and politely, leaving me feeling like I could learn quite a bit from these souls.

One of them won’t be the actual recorder, but many, many other things.