a sigh

since i was little, i listened to the classical station on the radio. the only things they played on this station were classical pieces, and there were next to no commercial breaks or advertisements. the only downside was that they often played the same things (not to my taste, i might add) over and over, causing me to turn it off in disappointment. i just can't listen to a classical piece that i don't like. i end up analyzing it out of boredom, noting to myself how predictable or boooring a passage or section or part was. trust me, i don't know very well why i like what i like, or what it even is that i like. anyway. on the flip side of that, every now and then magic would find me. my mother would call to me in my room to turn on the radio, either because it was something she had heard me play or some piece she found particularly beautiful. sometimes i would halfheartedly turn on my radio and something special would be on, something by ravel on the guitar, a recognizable brahms work, maybe even a shostakovich symphony. i remember often hearing rimsky-korsakov's scheherazade, and i loved it. at other times, a piece would be on that absolutely blew me away in beauty, and if i didn't know the name i would write down what time it had played and look up on the website what piece it was. i only did this a few times, and unfortunately i can only remember loving something by j. c. bach... can't recall the exact name, but i knew i loved it. maybe someday this piece will reach my ears once more, and i will be struck with the same interest? only time will tell.

THE POINT: about two years ago i woke up in the morning to franz liszt's 'un sospiro' being played on the piano. it was a little before the halfway mark at a slightly too soft volume, but the gentle notes entered my dreams before waking me up to reality, and it was lovely. i had just begun work on learning the piece, so that made it seem even more of a predestined moment. that day i felt overly special. i felt purposeful. i felt like my work was not a dream, but a real effort to something beautiful. i remember who the performer was, too: Jorge Bolet.

maybe now i cannot recall the precise impact of this recording on me, but that does not matter. it's just a memory that i want to keep, forever.
i am now learning a rachmaninoff ètude-tableau, one of my favorites in the entire world. it is, i'm guessing, a study in double notes. the entire melody is composed of two lines on top of one another. it is quite difficult, or it was... i hope at this point i have overcome the most difficult parts. i played it slowly not too long ago, very slowly, and some things were revealed to me. it reminds me of some shadowy figure circling a drain. some kind of inevitability, fatality about its search for the truth. circular tunnels leading to nowhere. what is ever solved?

If memories could be canned, would they also have expiration dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries.

1 comment:

  1. re-listening to second piece: uugghhhh the explosion of color and energy near the end is so goddamn perfect. gerioagjerwoaireja

    why can't i recreate it?

    why can't i harness it and just be it