So Maglor must have a pretty impressive set of lungs, right? I mean, ‘his voice carried over land and sea’ - we’re talking some serious lung capacity here.
Imagine teenage Maglor tearing through instrument after instrument, searching for something truly exciting, something truly powerful. Harp? Mastered that in a week. Drums? A bit boring really, all you do is whack them with a stick. Flutes? Interesting, but limiting in their impact, too fiddly, too fine for adolescent tastes. Then imagine the smile that crossed his face when some poor, well-intentioned fool hands him a vuvuzela and says ‘try this!’
Weeks pass, the neighbours move house, Maedhros threatens to strangle him with his own bootlaces but lo, the fun and games draw to a swift and decisive end when Fëanor arrives home brandishing a royal decree. He waves it triumphantly at Maglor, declaring: ‘Son, you have been officially labeled a disturber of the peace!’ and promptly sets his vuvuzela on fire.