2 of 45

Write now Article Tools

Red Juice

How bored I used to be sitting through concerts, listening to long unintelligible tracts of sound all mixed together that were pleasant, but were without meaning for a child, (except for the possibility of finding some kind of "red juice" at a reception if there was one). Today I listen to the same music, probably the same pieces; Tchaikovsky or Beethoven. Of course, I know I am listening to Tchaikovsky now, but who's to say what I was listening to as a child. Becoming more aware of the rise and fall of mountains of sound filled many hours at home and in life.

Now I listen differently, hearing, not the chaos I heard when I was young, but the imagined quietness around me in the concert hall, where we hope for the fleeting images conjured by the magical qualities of fifths, sixths and sevenths, that, when placed in the context of certain rising and falling patterns, will lift us up and carry us somewhere else. Transported upwards, to the tops of the trees, over the mountains and away to valleys where boys in leather shorts tend sheep, of all things! Or, if I only happen to notice the rustle of elegant clothing, the smell of perfume, lavish polish and sprays that heighten excitement at coming into contact with another dimension; they are all accoutrements of dreaming, remembering other times and places, imagining different pasts, hoping for different futures. No wonder the Viennese saying came into being, "Die schauen mit Hoffnung in der Vergangenheit"; they look with hope to the past.

That is what I am doing, even though I am alone, now, sitting here. I had to put down the book I was reading because of the music. It was an emergence-y of thought; now I hear a little of Nutcracker in the Pathetique. Poor composers, poor everyone. We can't escape being who we are, writing the themes of a life over and over until sometimes we get it right.

When the music starts, listening to the melodies forever weaving, rising and falling still carries me to gilded concert halls where I find a seat perhaps with a friend, rarely alone, as I find myself here. There was plenty of good company all around in those days. In a hyper-civilized culture, people going out in the evening to gather together and be transported as if on a ship, to vistas full of color and nobility, rapturous, threatening, inspiring us to love our seat partners, to love everyone, to leave large tips and to have faith in each other and our purpose in life. All because of sound

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Reflections: Perspective?
We want to hear your view. Write now!