Perfect Pitch

Well, that was unexpected. Turns out Ian’s one in ten thousand. Of course, anyone who has to listen to his stories about Big Ben these days knows he’s… unique… but this is different. I had an alto recorder out and was playing a couple of tunes with Ian beside me. He was playing with a toy robot, and half-listening to me and half-interjecting with this and that. After I played the last song, I asked him what I should play next, to which he replied, “Nothing.”

I had a snicker at that, and then proceeded to pantomime playing a song, but not blowing, so no notes were coming out. “What’s that?” “Nothing. I’m playing nothing.” He had a groan at that, and then I “accidentally” played the lowest note on the recorder. “Uh oh! I played a note by accident!”

“Yes, an F.”

I was confused for a moment. He was right, but how did he know that? I had explained to Miranda the tunings of the different recorders, but not Ian. He hadn’t even watched my fingers to see what I was playing. So I changed fingering, and played another note. “What note was that?”

“A C.”

He was right again. Ian has perfect pitch. I went downstairs with Ian to find Tammy, who was finished her workout. I told her what had happened. Miranda was there too. I explained to her what perfect pitch was. I could see she wasn’t fully understanding, and was a bit jealous that I was making a fuss over Ian. So I turned away so she couldn’t see the fingers, and asked her to identify the note.

She guessed wrong. So I played it again, and asked Ian. He was right again, it was a D. I tried once more a bit later, and he correctly identified an E.

It’s spooky. Like someone being able to tell you that a colour is “red” or “yellow”, there isn’t any doubt about it. The note just is an “E”, or “C” to him. I can’t do it. Apparently one in ten thousand has it, but without musical training, most lose it by age 9.