I have a mate who writes band discographies for music mags, tracking down every obscure vinyl press and CD release a group has ever put out. It’s a niche gig, but as it turns out, cataloging musical obsessions is kind of a family tradition for me

For anyone who isn't a massive classical nerd, Mozart’s work is organized by something called the Köchel catalogue. Created by a guy named Ludwig Ritter von Köchel, it assigns a shorthand "K." or "KV." number to every piece based on its chronological order. For instance, the famous Requiem in D minor was the 626th piece he composed, so it gets dubbed K. 626

My dad was a massive classical music fan, and this was exactly the kind of high-brow trivia he was incredibly proud to pass down to me

He didn't just talk the talk, either; he lived it. When my dad got engaged to my mum, he marked the occasion by going out and buying a recording of Mozart’s Symphonies No. 38 & 39 (K. 504 and K. 543). Decades later, keeping the tradition alive, he bought the exact same record for me when I got engaged. It was our thing

The real twist came recently. While we were putting together the musical suggestions for his funeral, I naturally suggested we include those symphonies. It felt like the perfect tribute, until I brought it up and realized my mum had absolutely no idea about the story. All those years, and the secret soundtrack to their engagement was a bond he'd quietly passed straight to me

Conclusion

It’s funny how music carries our history. While my mate spends his days cataloging rock bands for strangers, my dad left behind a deeply personal catalogue of his own, one measured not just in Köchel numbers, but in major life milestones shared between a father and son. Hearing those symphonies now feels less like a simple playlist and more like a private inheritance