The comfort of a banjo on Thursdays.

A recent survey asked the readers of a scientific trade magazine what they do for fun. More than half said that they play a musical instrument. I am among them, and I've been thinking about why the whole business is so gripping. I started playing the piano at age 6, took up the flute when I was about 10 years old, and landed on the clarinet when I was 12. I still play the clarinet and am a member of the 40-piece Rhode Island Wind Ensemble, which performs about seven concerts per year.

In the 1960s, it seemed that everyone I knew played folk guitar, and instruction was no farther than your camp bunk mate or college roommate. I still have the guitar I played then.

Now enter the banjo. What is it about the banjo that is so appealing to me? It has none of the nuances of other instruments. The banjo's timbre is monotonous; its uses are severely limited. And yet, just a few years ago when I started learning to play the banjo, I discovered--as I slowly let friends and acquaintances know what I was up to--that the desire to play the banjo lurks in many a soul, particularly it seems, the male soul. In fact, one of the new software millionaires profiled in a recent magazine article retired in his early 40s, moved into a beach house on the California coast, set up a charitable foundation, and now takes a banjo lesson every day. I can understand that.

Although I don't take a banjo lesson every day, I do practice daily. The kind of banjo music I'm trying to get my fingers around--the bluegrass three-finger picking style--requires regular repetitive practice. But I hardly know what keeps me at it. Part of it, I'm sure, is the pile-driving beat and infectious cheer, as well as the rowdy, melodic, raucous in-your-face sound. I wouldn't say that it's an addiction, but I do feel energized after a practice session, similar to the way I feel after an hour of exercise--minus the sweat. Are endorphins at play here?

But whether I'm playing the clarinet or banjo, or my colleagues are sawing ...