( A small prize for anyone who can guess.)
My family has a strong tradition of involvement in music.
My grandparents met in Barry as a result of their mutual love for the amateur operatic society there, though they performed more Gilbert and Sullivan than the serious material.
My grandfather was an excellent tenor from the Valleys (Cilfynydd, to be exact) who often took the main roles, while Gran was invariably in the chorus.
My mother and father were both classical music enthusiasts in particular and one of my first words was 'Shostakovich' (yes, even then I was an arrogant upstart!).
My mother played piano and my most lasting musical memory is of every Christmas Eve, when we'd gather round to sing carols ( a tradition carried on by our family incidentally).
I never heard my dad sing though ; he was always in awe of his own father and determined to be different in every way.
My brother was dispatched for piano lessons and my sister for violin, an instrument she took to and performed in school orchestras later. When I was told to go to piano I flatly refused. I was the wild child of outdoors and sports and now deeply regret it.
I'd still like to learn when my wife retires and has the time to teach me. Just hope it's better than my forays into car-driving!
Ironically, with my sister, I was always the musical one and sang solos in Primary School and later joined the choir in Grammar.
At the age of ten my mother even contemplated trying to get me a scholarship at a Cathedral School (she must've been desperate to get rid of me!).
My wife plays 'cello and piano and our love of music has been passed on to all our children.
My son was a virtuoso cellist and both he and my older daughter played in the 'Nash' (National Youth Orchestra of Wales). My son also played in the British Children's Orchestra.
Competitions, concerts, practising, lessons and rehearsals dominated our existence at one time and my wife deserves numerous medals and trophies for taxiing them everywhere.
My older daughter went on to play viola in the Welsh language pop-folk band Gilespi and was in her element. Even more so when she improvised with a keyboard-player and singer, with a music closer to free-form jazz and the electric viola of Cale's Velvet Underground.
My son, however, thrived on the demanding and highly moving work of classical composers and his eventual performance of Elgar's Cello Concerto was a revelation.
My younger daughter enjoys playing in the RCT Youth Orchestra on cello (notice a pattern here?) and on the piano she often prefers the pop music ,which she listens to a great deal.
Yet music doesn't fill full our house as it once did.
The way we listen to it now makes it more private and less a communal experience.
I'm sure my wife is often grateful for this, as she doesn't have to suffer Tom Waits or Captain Beefheart blaring out of my stereo speakers.
As a consequence, my tastes have only occasionally impacted upon my young daughter.
She came along to last year's Waterboys concert and loathed it and so dismisses everything I like as similar.
Music still plays a greater role in my life than any other art-form and, in many ways, it's the same with her.
Yet our interests do not overlap and intermingle in the way they did with both my older children.
My son once played bass guitar in an ad hoc band at his school and they did REM's 'Everybody Hurts' : a band I regularly played on my old sound system.
I have exchanged and shared music with my older daughter for years. I inspired her lasting love of Ashley Maher (who I saw on BBC's Late Show), while she has pointed me towards wonderful artists such as Lleuwen Steffan in recent years.
With my son I share an enthusiasm for modern jazz and it was he who led me to explore the marvels of the Esbjorn Svensson Trio ; surely the most varied and thrilling jazz band of the last decade.
Now my older daughter intends to learn guitar (see the poem below) and I seem to be struggling to drink enough to make my blues harp sound even reasonable;so perhaps we'll enter a new era.
We certainly need to carry on the strong line from that renowned 20th century figure, especially as I've only been assured recently about our connection to him.
GIFT OF A GUITAR
It stands at the other side of the room
in its black plasticky outfit
unsure whether to enter and sit down,
or join the hard-coated 'cello in the corner.
It leans against the sofa wondering
quite what it's doing here,
where the piano is very much furniture
and cds are like tiles lining.
It keeps expecting to be retrieved
as it faces the opening door,
it has hardly spoken or sung yet,
just a few tentative phrases.
'Cello would be buried it it wasn't upright,
piano a case for a family museum ;
as dust gathers its suit loses shine,
hoping it will write its signature in time.