While shopping for a Christmas gift for my mom, I found online lists of the best worship albums of the year. I felt convicted: Why have I not been more avid a seeker of music that is not only musically marvelous but thematically rich? Why have I not more frequently combined my favorite medium (music) with my favorite theme (God)?
Don, a fellow tenor at the Choral Society, shared with me this evening that last week at his usual post-rehearsal social hour at Texas Roadhouse, Russ Shelley, the music director of the Choral Society, gushed momentarily about the beauty and power of my voice.
Obviously, that’s a heady sort of thing to hear. It inspires me to pursue more opportunities to share my voice. But at first, at least, this inspiration feels akin to the addictive high that I imagine you get from using recreational drugs. That’s dangerous.
It’s good to sing for my own enjoyment (or Yours, God), and it’s good to sing to delight someone else. But it’s unhealthy to sing to elicit praise.
Father, as I get deeper into singing performance in State College, please protect me from the intoxicating effects of people’s praise.
Scott: Éa, would you mind if I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott [to clarify]: Should I put on some tunes?
Éa: Yeah.
Scott: Any objections anyone?
Éa: Tunes! But don’t put on any objections!
Be it so resolved that I will not attempt to listen to music while at work except if I am doing very rote tasks.
“I was a lover before this war.”
— TV on the Radio, in a lyric that at the moment reminds me of my comment to Carla last night, “Who needs emotions? They’re so unreliable.”
Carla and I had our first Friday Night Music Night with Kid A in the bedroom this evening. She has these fascinating and often poignant movies that play in her head as she listens, as if each track were meant to be a soundtrack. It’s amazing, and it makes me want to practice the same as a way to increase my creativity.
For her, of course, it comes naturally. For me, methinks it will take self-discipline.
Having just listened to “Shepherd” by Anaïs Mitchell, I wonder: When did we come to the conclusion that sad endings are more artistic?
I finished listening through the Medieval portion of (one version of) the classical repertoire this afternoon. Main takeaway (drumroll, please): Eight hundred years ago is a long time ago.
For what it’s worth, though, students of Italian will probably enjoy Johannes Ciconia, and students of German will almost certainly enjoy the music of warrior-poet Oswald von Wolkenstein.
Here’s a link to a Spotify playlist of my favorite tracks: Faves: Medieval.
“Well, I think he can get a pretty intense look on his face when he’s playing something like this, but I don’t think he ever looks like a pirate getting an enema.”
— Scott describing Carla’s imitation of Itzhak Perlman playing the finale of Erich Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D. (Go ahead. Picture it.)
Sullivan (sheet music in hand): Mama, can you read this?
Carla: No, honey, it’s music. It’s not words.
Sullivan: Oh, well, can you sing it?
Carla: No, it’s piano music.
Sullivan: Well, WE have pirnano!
Carla: But I don’t know how to play the piano.
Sullivan: I know how to play the pirnano: You just press the keys! That’s how you do it!
[while listening to “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley]
Sullivan: What are “every little things”?
Carla: Just everything. Everything’s gonna be alright.
Sullivan: God. ‘Cos he makes badness into…into…love-ness. He’s a nice guy.
as recorded by Carla:
Scott put on one of our favorite classical pieces, The Lark Ascending, this evening. I introduced Éa to it by telling her, “This is The Lark Ascending by, um…Van Williams I think?”
Then, without a hesitation, I asked Sully, who was diligently working on a puzzle on the floor, “Sully, who wrote this piece? It’s The Lark Ascending by ____…”?
He took a moment, still concentrating on his oversized puzzle, and then replied in his classic matter-of-fact manner, “Hmmm…Boathoven.”
He was wrong, but it was cute as heck… 🎵
Sorry! I got into my whistling.
— Scott, as we swerve off and back onto the road