At some time before I can remember, I started singing. When I was about seven years old, I started playing the piano. When I was about nine, I started playing the clarinet. When I was about twelve, I started playing the oboe. When I was about seventeen, I started playing the guitar.

When I was about fourteen, I stopped playing the clarinet. When I was about twenty, I stopped playing the oboe. When I was about thirty, I stopped playing the guitar. I still sing, and I still play the piano, but I don’t practice. You can see that entropy, as ever, reigns supreme. Probably I’ll stop playing the piano, but I expect to keep singing (in an ever lower tessitura) until they carry me away.

By my junior year at Wesleyan, I had begun leading warmups and selected repertoire for the Glee Club and the Chapel Choir. That year I also took a job as organist and choir director for the Third Congregational Church. I found that I liked waving my arms and telling people what to do, so the bulk of my performing—if it can be called that—has consisted of directing ensembles, mostly but not always vocal.

Eventually these pages will contain a more detailed account of some of these shenanigans, and maybe even some recordings, programs, etc. But for now . . . well . . . I can only request, as ever, that you remain patient—which, if you’ve read this far, you surely are.