Inside The Rhythm of My Heart — memory, music, and freedom beyond rules
At Rosedale United Church Hall, the room was already holding its breath.
I was seated close to the piano—close enough to feel the wood resonate, to hear not just the notes but the air around them. The sound didn’t need to travel far; it simply unfolded. There was an intimacy in the room that felt almost conspiratorial, as if we had all been invited not to a performance, but to a remembering.
This was the world of Marc Jordan—not just the songs, but the space between them.
It is the same space he inhabits in The Rhythm of My Heart, a memoir that reads less like a chronology and more like a series of emotional coordinates. Moments gathered, examined, and—like his music—allowed to breathe.