For people like me who are practically tone deaf, the eleven different pitches of Western music are like identical twins, except that there are eleven little buggers, not just two.
The difference between these eleven siblings is noticeable enough when all eleven are there, lined up and ready for your inspection - one has a few more freckles than the other (an allusion to Blyton's Sullivan twins), one has slightly different way of talking, and so on. But when they're separate... You can't tell who's who.
Of course, those who know the illusive eleven (yes, I'm feeling rather Enid Blyton-ish today) well enough will be able to tell the difference. In other words, those with perfect pitch can see who's who even without another note to compare with.
But the near-to-tone-deaf? They just can't.
A chronicle of nose growth
'...changing the form of one's mission's almost as difficult as changing the shape of one's nose:
they are, each, in the middle of one's face and one's character - one has to begin too far back.'
― Henry James. The Portrait of a Lady.
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