How did James Galway get to be that ubiquitous, grinning, record-selling, concert artist, the ""man with the golden flute""? Pretty much as you'd expect. Childhood in Protestant Belfast with a loving musical family, lessons at school and home, contests, playing with a military band, patronage from English music-schools and virtuoso Geoffrey Gilbert, the Paris Conservatoire, and -- until 1974 -- principal flautist employment with top orchestras: Sadler's Wells, London Symphony (with its ""trade-union mentality""), and autocratic Herbert von Karajan's Berlin Philharmonic. But basically-shy Jimmy ""continued to feel niggled by the lack of appreciation and recognition that is the fate of an orchestral instrumentalist. It is soul-destroying work in so many different ways and literally drives one to drink . . ."" So, after a period as the bearded, swinging rebel of the Berlin Phil -- and after finding second wife Annie -- Jimmy communed with God, then decided to quit Berlin (""Herbie almost hit the roof"") and go out as a solo artist. That's where this little book stops -- almost nothing here about the ins and outs of the golden flute's current booming career -- and Jimmy (who parades his personal religiosity throughout) ends with the prayer ""that people should feel when they recall my name, that in some odd inexplicable way, they have at sometime heard the voice of the Infinite through me."" For fans only; music folk will mostly just snicker.