We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
This is a lovely hymn written in 1868. The music, I think, is derived from a traditional British Isles tune, similar to a tune I have heard the Clancey Brothers and Dylan use.
Music. I like to immerse in it, as fully as my feeble senses are able. I want to appreciate the author's efforts, intents, and talent, and to be enlivened by it.
With serious, ambitious music (as opposed to catchy pop music like Verdi opera, and ZZ Top), I am best with no distractions, lying down with eyes closed. My lack of a musical brain and of musical talent has been a lifelong disappointment to me.
My music education (to become a more discerning and considerate listener) was limited to my Dad, to a college music history and appreciation course, lots of listening, info via Mrs. BD who had the benefit of a wonderful music education - and to the music courses from The Teaching Co, now Great Courses.
Isn't it the same way with everything? Art, music, littacher, woodworking, auto mechanics, tree-felling, masonry, gardening, shooting, and race-car driving? It's all called "eddication," but the best of it is not formal. We pursue it because it adds to being alive, "enriches" life as they say.
When I was growing up, Dad liked to take us all to the opera. The preparation for it included reading the story and the history and context of the opera, listening to it through at least a time or two, and going over the libretto. German, Italian, French - we'd muddle through it with the original and the translations, and after a while we'd sort of get the gist of these languages - the rhythms of them, the sounds, the flow, some of the grammar and lots of the vocab. (With his five kids, he approached opera, Shakespeare and Sophocles the same way. He did not want us to miss out on the glories. Thanks, Dad and Mom, for the cultural heritage and for opening so many doors. You could call it Home Schooling.)
I am slowly getting to the point of this meandering post, which is about Dvorak's String Quartet No. 12 in F Major, Op. 96. aka "American Quartet." It's probably his most popular quartet piece, and it's a doozy. We heard it performed last month, and, despite my ADD, Restless Leg Syndrome, etc., I do my best to let myself sink into music as if into a pool of water. I did notice that the First Violin gal played the entire thing with her eyes closed, immersing herself physically and emotionally and letting the others follow her lead.
The Vivace is wonderful, but the whole thing is emotional.
My point is that I listened to it again on Youtube when I got home, and twice again in the early morning and a few more times since. Then I started to really get some idea and flow of the piece, and only now I am ready to hear it live again. I think I am now at the point where the serious listeners with good ears begin to hear this entertainment.
For people with shortcomings (now called " musical learning disabilities") like me, live concerts should just do one piece - three times. Then go out for supper. Give this three times if you are as musically-retarded as I am, and see what you think. It's a cool piece:
My Mom died a little over a year ago, and I have not gotten over it yet. Possibly, I never will.
It's a Quaker song (correction - Shaker). Mom was a Quaker at heart although a Congregationalist in practice by family tradition.
She had plenty of money, but she never owned a camera, computer, or a cell phone, drove a 13 year-old Honda, and did her own yard work with knowledge and skill. She had a small collection of expensive timeless fancy clothing, and used them for many years. She always looked Yankee-style-elegant, if you know what I mean by that, never dowdy, always conservatively-chic. She hated jewelry but would wear pearls to the opera. She always looked great, trim, and put-together, even in old age.
When we cleared out her closet, it was amazing to my sisters how little she had because she always looked perfect in public. A very small amount of perfect stuff. St. John, Chanel, etc., plus gardening, hiking, tennis, and skiing clothes.
Simple Gifts was her kind of song, one of her favorites. Jewel is pretty good. I remember booing Jewel when she opened for Bob at a concert in New Haven when she insisted on talking politics. Embarassed my friends. After touring with Bob, she wondered whether he was gay because he never hit on her.
Maybe Jewel was just annoying when she wasn't singing. Shut up and sing.
This inventive and rollicking organ piece is embedded in Western civilization's collective memory, and cannot help but influence anybody on earth who has attempted to make music since he (we think) composed it. It must be fun to play, especially with the footwork on the pedals:
John Gardiner's wonderful new Bach bio spent three or four pages on this piece. It's a cantata on death - Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit (God's time is the very best time) - ending with joy. Bach wrote it at 21. The musical structure and the key changes are complex, and over my head despite reading the pages twice and listening to the lovely and emotional piece around ten times.
Bach was rarely, if ever, satisfied with his singers. He was a singer himself. I suspect that he would be thrilled by the skill of our singers today.
