The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto

by Mitch Albom

There is a reason you glance up when you first hear a melody, or tap your foot to the sound of a drum. All humans are musical. Why else would the Lord give you a beating heart?

But you cannot change your past, no matter how you craft your future.

You’re never in love with anyone the way you are when you’re eighteen, on a beach, at night, with your shoes off.

In every artist’s life, there comes a person who lifts the curtain on creativity. It is the closest you come to seeing me again.

This is how talents weave from generation to generation, how the shadow stretches, and how an artist born nearly a hundred years earlier begins to fill the soul of a child who shares his name.

“The nails protect the fingertips. The fingertips are sensitive. Only by cutting the nails back can you truly be in touch with the music.” “Yes, Maestro.” “Only then can you feel the pain of every note.”

“Music hurts. Do you understand me, boy?”

“Do not cry over losing blood. Not for something you love.”

MONEY. A MYSTERY, I MUST ADMIT. While it clearly means a great deal to humans, it seems, to me, an enormous burden.

Wealth has never defined music. What is played from the heart can be played anywhere.

Why humans kill each other is beyond my comprehension, but I can testify that you have been doing it since your inception. Only the weapons change.

silence is part of music. But just because something is silent doesn’t mean you aren’t hearing it.

There are moments on earth when the Lord smiles at the unexpected sweetness of His creation. This was one of those moments.

I can only say that some of my saddest sounds have been heard in such places. A song inside a cage is never a song. It is a plea.

This may seem highly fortuitous, but when a higher power has plans for you, life can be full of near misses.

The song gave him comfort. That is often why you come to music, isn’t it? To feel that you are not alone?

“An old soul” is how you sometimes describe it. But talents like me have been inside you since creation. Every artist is old in that way.

Every loss leaves a hole in your heart.

“The secret is not to make your music louder, but to make the world quieter.”

Man searches for courage in drink, but it is not courage that he finds, it is fear that he loses. A drunken man may step off a cliff. That does not make him brave, just forgetful.

is not new, this idea that a purer art awaits you in a substance. But it is naive. I existed before the first grapes were fermented. Before the first whiskey was distilled. Be it opium or absinthe, marijuana or heroin, cocaine or ecstasy or whatever will follow, you may alter your state, but you will not alter this truth: I am Music. I am here inside you. Why would I hide behind a powder or a vapor?

but he was still a child, and all children eventually want to go home.

I have said that music allows for quick creation. But it is nothing compared with what you humans can destroy in a single conversation.

But what’s the point in making art if it isn’t right?

All lonely roads lead back to music. I embrace you. I forgive you. I will never leave you. Can humans say the same?

“Why do you want to hear a sad song?” The man took another swig from the flask. “They’re more true than the happy ones, don’tcha think?”

Music can soothe a soul.

And he smiled and said the older you get, the more you want your kids to know about you.

At a certain point, your life is more about your legacy to your kids than anything else.

Rooms are rooms, after all, as a music staff is a music staff. How you fill them is what makes them your own.

Music has long been a part of your death rituals. Requiem masses. Hymns. A bugler blowing “Taps.” As a talent, I cannot grieve. But you certainly grieve through me. Your most passionate compositions are often inspired by loss.

And there are few things emptier than applause when you feel you don’t deserve it.

Music is about communication, see? It’s about baring your soul in the notes, telling your tale.

What you’re thinking about can be what you become.

He realized how many people it takes to keep one child alive in this world.

All his life, he’d seen devotion and suffering go hand in hand.

Everyone joins a band in this life. Some of them break your heart.

And Music is in the connection of human souls, speaking a language that needs no words. Everyone joins a band in this life. And what you play always affects someone. Sometimes, it affects the world. Frankie’s symphony ends. And so, at last, we rest.