I would give or do almost anything to go back in time to attend the debut performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his haul, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
WOW!!! I just realized how crappy that last post was. Ahhh!!! I will have to work on that…later.
As I drove home from school today, I was struck with a sudden realization. A casual stranger who would happen to venture into the chance of finding my favorite songs would think me an unstable man.
As I drove, I listened intently to Mozart’s powerful Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 23 K488 in A minor. The composition’s minor tonality was dim at first, but slowly it built. The strings tempted the song to burst open its reservoir of rage as they ever so hesitantly elevated their volume, becoming more pronounced and impatient with each stroke of the bow. Finally, as their efforts seem in vain, there explodes the rage that has collected within the composition’s soul for so long. However, as soon as it had emerged it withdrew its contemptuous rage, only to find its use later in the movement.
The fury and discontent that arose within me with each wave of powerful intensity confirmed my suspicions. Only the extremes of music can satisfy me.
This can be easily seen when my favorite songs are listened by anyone. My favorite compositions are almost all depressing [or at least I decipher them to be]. These include Many of Mozart’s requiems: Lacrimosa, Dies Irae, Rex Tremendae, and Kyrie. Also in my arsenal are Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and Eroica Mv. 3. Purcell’s Dido’s Lament and Funeral of Queen Mary’s stir my emotions as well. The oft exuberant and frilly Chopin even managed to make a composition sad enough to move me: THE Funeral March. You know, the one you always here when they pass you off to the ground!
From one end of the spectrum to the other, songs that evoke the pentacle of man’s ecstatic joy bring me great pleasure. From this area comes my favorite song of all time: Richard Wagner’s Siegried’s Funeral March. Though it may be a song of death, the emotions that surface are anything but depressing. If anything, they are redeeming! As the compositions strong tides rise and fall, I can imagine the souls of men rising above all that stands in the way.
However, there are others that arouse within me the soul that so longs to understand. Such songs are those that depict the image of struggle in my mind. As I listen to them my fists clench, and as the crescendo rings clear my arm violently pummels the air. Richard Wagner is, by far, the master of such an effect in my mind. One cannot help but imagine the wing’ed Valkyries as they descend upon the raging battlefield, selecting those few who were brave enough to die in battle and may do so again for Odin, when they hear The Ride of the Valkyries.
But, in the end, what does this say about me? I think myself to be a well regulated individual. I do not boil over in irate spouts of madness. Nor do I fall deep into the dark abyss of depression. The joy I feel is most always securely contained. I revel in the world of moderation. I am content but not euphoric. I am disappointed but not miserable. I am angry but not infuriated. So then, why would I listen to such music that provokes these emotions to emerge?
The answer is that music can express what I feel I should not or cannot. I shall not confront someone in a rage of passion, nor indulge my most base of desires. Yet, I can feel and do this all when I listen to the simple vibrations of air particles throughout the air.
Just wanted to break bread and wash the feet of the great and glorious Ryan….who did you think I was going to thank for introducing me to Tumblr, Jesus?
