My mother and I were chatting on the phone the other day and she mentioned meeting the former typing teacher from my high school. I never knew the woman for I had not taken any typing classes. In fact, I distinctly remember staying as far away from that classroom as I could.
I did not type, much to my father’s chagrin (after all, he owned a typewriter repair business, as did his father before him). He made many attempts over the years to stoke my interest in becoming a typist—thinking, I suppose, it would assure me an income as an adult. The only keyboard I had an affinity for was the kind that produced music. I had great penmanship: Why would I need to learn how to type?
Truth be told, the sound of typewriters unsettled me back then. But the aesthetics of the machines have never lost their appeal to me.
Imagine my delight when a Lull reader sent me an example of a typewriter as music—the unusual and agreeable blend of machine clickety-clacking with symphony orchestra. Here, for your pleasure, is a concerto by Leroy Anderson, performed by Alasdair Malloy:
[Thanks to the Lull reader who sent the video.]