Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

On Monday night, Dwayne drives us to the recording studio, which is in the basement of a record shop. As soon as I step out of the car, I hear music. Melody asks where the song is coming from, and Dwayne says the studio. A record is being made. The sound gets piped out through speakers right onto the sidewalk. It’s his voice that will be hearing next.

We wait in the record shop for the recording to finish. Dwayne paces the aisles, but Melody and I go through the albums. I’ve never seen so many records. Rows and rows of flat, square covers. Grammy had a collection, but hers all fit into one little cupboard. Melody races over to a section of small records, tucked paper sleeves. She searches through and pulls out a shiny black disc with a bright blue label. The word “Motown” is written across the top. She asks if I’ve heard this one. The label says “Move On Up. The Three Ravens.” This is Dwayne’s record. So Melody’s voice is on here, too? She nods, grinning.

I wish I could listen to the record right now now, but then a few guys with instrument cases come up from the basement. Dwayne waves towards the stairs. When we get downstairs, a man wearing headphones named Mac nods at Dwayne. He asks where the band is and Dwayne says it’s just him. Mac shakes his head and says he means the musicians. Dwayne asks if he has a house band, and Mac snorts. This isn’t Motown. We can’t afford to keep musicians on the payroll permanently.

Dwayne sighs and says that he could play piano, too. He’s just been so focused on the vocals. Mac frowns and asks Dwayne if he really wants to do this another time? If he’s not ready… Dwayne’s shoulders sag. He looks at the clock as if he can’t stand to let another second go by before doing this thing. Melody pipes up and says that we can be his band, just like we practiced. My stomach drops. Practicing in someone’s living room is one thing. Playing in a studio for recording that will be heard by thousands of people is totally different.

I feel frozen, just like I did in Hitsville. Playing keyboard for Dwayne’s recording feels even scarier, though. I can’t pretend to play, like I pretended to sing. And I can’t mess this up!

Mac frowns at Melody and me like we’re little kids. Dwayne says that we can do it. We’re good. I decide to stand taller. Dwayne believes in us, he needs us. Dwayne hands me the sheet music, and for a moment, the notes blur together. But when Melody picks up a tambourine from the instrument rack, the jingle clears my head. At Dwayne’s cue, I start to play. And I do pretty well. We only have to record the song twice. It’s like Dwayne and The Banana Splits have been playing together forever. And then before I know it, it’s over.

I follow Dwayne and Melody back upstairs into the record shop. There, we stop short. A group of people are gathered outside the front window. Melody asks what they’re here for, and the store clerk says they’re waiting for more music. They’re loving our sound.

Wow! The people out there liked our music. They want to hear more. Melody bites her lip, trying not to smile too wide. Dwayne steps into the middle of the crowd like a superstar, holding his head high. As I follow him, I make a plan. When I get back home, I’ll search online for his record. Will I be able to find it? If I do, maybe I’ll hear my own keyboard playing. I may never be a superstar myself, but now I’m thinking that’s okay. As I walk beside Dwayne, I’m feeling pretty proud of what we just did. I guess you don’t always have to be the star to shine.