This all happened to Nick Coleman. He came from a family which always adored music, and one of the high points of boyhood was at the age of ten when he opened a village carol service as the chorister who sang the solo first verse of 'Once in Royal David's City'. This unleashes several thoughtful pages on music, religion, and the beauty of hymns and carols. Three years later he was saving up his pocket money to buy his first long-playing record, 'Razamanaz', by Scottish hard rockers Nazareth. During his teen years he was similarly enthused by the music of Genesis, Yes, Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder and the Rolling Stones – even to the point of having a fantasy in which he replaced guitarist Mick Taylor in the band. A few pages later, he treats us to a fascinating, detailed analysis of Marvin Gaye's 'I Heard it Through the Grapevine', and what it means to him.
The book does not follow a straightforward pattern. Coleman starts off with the devastating loss of hearing, then reminiscences about his childhood and teenage years in Cambridgeshire, followed by a career as a music journalist, then returns to the deafness, his and his wife's frustrating efforts to try and get his hearing back, followed by further reminiscences – including a very funny account of when he was asked to DJ at a village fete and found himself somewhat limited by the fact that the single record deck he was working with would only play records at 45 and 78 rpm (yes, in the mid-1970s) - and an analysis of his responses to the music of his life.
Disconnected, even unplugged, from a vitally important part of his life and his senses, he learnt to cope. It was an indefinable mix of instinct, memory, and effort to piece together and somehow reactivate the triggers of his former life. If he can't physically hear the music he loves again, at least he can somehow hear it in his head, even to the point where he can write a piece for a Sunday newspaper on the Rolling Stones' 'Exile on Main Street' to coincide with its reissue in remastered form – a record which contains 'Tumbling Dice', his favourite piece of music ever. He conveys vividly the loss in not being inside and a living part of the music any more, how to some extent it has become the equivalent of looking at a flat-line drawing of a magnificent building. He describes how it was when he came out of hospital and avoided looking at his massive record collection as he did not dare dwell on the monument to the life he once had.