"Ondine" Likened

Back in July, I shared a dilemma I had between the new way I was mentoring in piano and the old reasons that were the only way I really knew for using my own piano skills.  I felt in need of a destination to journey toward. I shared here how witnessing a cellist's performance had reminded me of a purpose for music that became the seed of what led to this post and others that will follow (as I've decided to do this again with new pieces). 

I wrote:

"An idea keeps nudging me.  A destination I could give myself. . . Choose a piece. Set a date. Post it here. . . Ravel's Ondine. . . I'll record it without demanding perfection, but communication. I'll post it pretending that those who listen, do so not to put me down or prop me up on a pedestal, but to 'meet' and 'communicate' together."

And so, I chose September 25th to post the recording.  It's been quite the journey from July to now.  I will hold my tongue and not go into analyzing, apologizing or giving excuses as I'm tempted to do. That was the point of this experiment after all!

Instead, a quick word about the piece for those unfamiliar with it, or those unfamiliar with translating music into their . . . "native tongue."

Ondine is a piece I've wanted to play for years. I find that I am drawn to pieces that depict water, and pieces that have a relational element.  This has both and I find it very fulfilling to play and easy to find messages of truth in. It is by Maurice Ravel, written in 1908 and based on a poem by Aloysius Bertrand. You can google and find any number of explanations about this piece or the poem it's based on (and I suggest you do, like this one I found on someone's blog).

Here, though, I'm going to stick to the theme of this blog and share a smidgen of how I've likened this music to my own life (you can find the link to the recording at the end of the post). The way I play the piece might not be acceptable to other pianists, they might think I am not true to the way Ravel wanted it played.  That is partly intentional.  There are plenty of recordings that are "true to Ravel."  I believe the notes and rhythms composers organize have potential to say things to individuals that the composer never planned.  This happens when we share things in the written word as well, right?  For instance, did those that recorded the events in the scriptures know how many thousands or millions of different ways future readers would apply them to their specific lives? No. I believe there is a lot of untapped potential for communication in music. Yes, learn the "right way" to play the piece, but then experiment and ponder how the notes speak to you and if that means a different tempo, different dynamics or the stretching of a phrase that "shouldn't be" stretched - why not? The composers are usually long gone. If it doesn't mean anything to you, it won't mean much to others.  Maybe this is a reason behind classical music interest waning and popular music thriving? Well . . . I'm going off topic now. Back to "Ondine."

Somehow, what goes on in my mind (when I'm not hyper aware trying to record the piece and can lose myself more fully in that stream of sounds - the irony, right?) loosely combines the original water sprite idea of the poem with . . . well . . . caterpillars and the Garden of Eden.  Pretty strange, right?  I had three pages written up about triads and cool patterns I'd found and their symbolism, and a bedtime story version of what I'm thinking when I play, but I decided that would be the fire-hose approach. Instead,  I've whittled it down to three little "translation clues" you might find helpful (with a bit of what to listen for and minute cues) and then I'll set you free to try and decipher if those clues fit what you visualize in your mind as you listen and what it all might mean to you.  Remember - this is an exercise in communication through music! Not a "ta-da!" performance. Forget the person playing (and all their mistakes) and enjoy likening it to your life.

"Translation Clues"

#1. The motif that begins when the left hand first plays I think of as the seeking, searching voice.  You'll notice the same descending two notes often throughout the piece. In my mind, each time, it is a new question, a new search for truth. If the voice was speaking with words, what would it say to you?

#2. The constant motion throughout the piece (beginning with the right hand) is that watery, immortal element. Ondine in the poem was an immortal water sprite (fairy) and tried to persuade the mortal man to marry her. I picture the immortal element more as energies and oppositions we might face in life that can lead (if we navigate with God's help and grace) to an ever increasing knowledge of good and evil; a continuing process of being recreated, or reborn - just as the fruit in the Garden of Eden began such a journey for Adam and Eve.

#3. Instar =  The name for a stage of a larva's life. Each time it molts, it beings a new instar. A larva will generally pass through five instars before it makes a chrysalis or cocoon and becomes a moth or butterfly. I hear the main melody voice (in clue #1) going through a journey in this piece that includes:

•  Moments of curiosity, wonder, and discovery (minutes 00:00 - 02:05)

•  Moments of vulnerability and confusion (2:05-2:47)

• Times of deep seeking (notice the conversation between the low and high voices 2:47-3:32)

• Anxiety, fear, anguish (3:33 -4:38)

• Seeking relief, a prayer offered three times (4:39 - 5:00)

• A moment of cleansing, nourishing, and reassurance (5:00-5:43)

• A point where it is possible to look back. The past begins to take on the look of Isaiah 61:3 (5:44-6:09)

• The choice to view the journey through the lens of faith now brings a moment of gratitude and inspiration from a still, small voice (6:09 - 6:38)

• Perhaps the darker energy that has been so constant in the journey now sees all its efforts only played into the hand of goodness and Light. It reveals its true nature in a sudden tantrum (reminds me of Moses 1:21-22), is washed away, and finally dissipates and fades (6:39 - 7:20).

Click here for the youtube link: Ondine

Many thanks to Steve Phillips (www.fullfidelitystudio.com) and Adam (videography, AKA Mr. Golden) for their help in this little project of mine.

Dick and Jane on the Radio

I know many people who have a desire to learn a language that I've become fluent in.  It's not their native tongue.  In fact, it's a language that is so foreign to some people that they don't even realize it's a language.  And yet it's so familiar that they are exposed to it on a daily basis.

Four Forever

I can't sleep. I was reading scriptures with Nathan in his room when Norah burst in, a mess of tears and sobbed, "Mom! Lizzy just said that when I'm older and have kids of my own, I won't see you all the time!"

My immediate reaction was a shocked laugh that I quickly tried to stifle.  The intensity with which Norah expressed this tragedy is pretty common, but I've never gotten used to it.  How does a four-year-old do that with such sincere and deep...mourning??

She continued, heart broken,"I don't want to be a mommy.  Then you won't teach me piano anymore!  I'll just be old with my own kids and remember being four and I'll cry and cry!"  Here she stopped for a good cry while I held her and tried consoling her, still shocked by the strength of her emotions at the thought of growing up. What could I really say?  "I'll see you every day you want to see me. I'll still play piano with you whenever you like. I'll never be far from you, sweetie."  Everything I tried she saw right through - the stark truth was, she was getting older and there was nothing I could do about it.  "But I'll know everything then, and you won't be able to teach me! I just want to be four forever and ever and ever!" More sobbs...

My oldest daughter tried her hand at it, "But when you're older, you'll get to have kids of your own, and a house, and . . . a dog! (I'm allergic :)"  No good.  She didn't want any of those things because she wouldn't have and be all the things she loved about being four.  I went to her bed with her and held her while she continued for five minutes or more the emotional expressions of loss and fear.  Now I was crying, too.

The realization came to me

The Heart of a Child

Part two of my last post is in progress, but something else is itching to come out first. So while Adam has gently and repeatedly begged me to catch up on the business filing (bookkeeping has never been my forte) and I've got filing boxes and piles of paper surrounding me, I first have to clear my head. (I promise I'll be able to move faster this way, honey! :)

There is a part of Arm the Children by Arthur Henry King that I think of and reread often.

The Bells of Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and I wanted to give something to friends and neighbors to express my love and my testimony of the Savior whose birth we celebrate. How about some Christmas music?  

First, if you want to hear the closest thing I've found to what the angel's must have sounded like announcing Christ's birth, listen to Eric Whitacre's,

Lux Aurumque

Second, a piece I wrote, but it needs a little background first. I participated in a neighborhood Christmas concert on November 30th of this year and was inspired by the story shared before we sang an arrangement of "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." It was a retelling of the story originally told during Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas Concert (you can watch the segment here).  To summarize, the family of the well-known poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, were living a happy normal life when tragedy struck in 1861. In the Summer of that year, their house caught fire and took the life of Fanny, Henry's wife. In trying to rescue her, Henry received burns to his hands and face.

...For Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, as [civil war] rages without, another [war] raged within. For the next two years, Christmases come and go. Henry writes: "How inexpressibly sad are all the holidays. 'A merry Christmas,' say the children. But that is no more for me. Perhaps someday God will give me peace."

Then, two years later, Henry learns his son who ran away to join the army has been wounded. He finds his son barely alive after days of searching in Washington.

We should not be surprised that on Christmas day, 1863, Henry reaches for his pen and writes: "It was as if an earthquake rent the hearthstones of a continent. And in despair I bowed my head. 'There is no peace on earth,' I said. For hate is strong, and mocks the song of 'peace on earth, good will to men.'"

Listening to the story, I thought of how painful holidays can be for those who have recently lost someone dear.  The sound of Christmas bells, to Henry, must have stirred feelings of sorrow and loss, not celebration. I wonder when that changed for him.  When did he come to the place where he could remember what he felt shortly after his wife's death,

 So strong is the sense of her presence upon me that I should hardly be surprised to look up now and see her in the room. Death is a beginning. Not an end. 

When did that feeling resurface and come together to change the ringing of bells to a hopeful sound?  That is exactly what the bells went on to symbolize for Henry and his family; what the lyrics he wrote have come to remind us.  As Ed Herrman read so beautifully,

In those bells the message is clear. On Christmas day, a Child was born in a stable. Of that Child Henry writes: "Though in a manger Thou draw breath, Thou art greater than life and death." And so He is! As the bells ring on, Henry dips his pen again, and again. Because Christmas lives on, Fanny lives on, Charles lives on, a nation lives on, and we, each one of us, may live on as well, in hope and peace forever.

Three days after this concert Adam and I were to play prelude, postlude and a few musical numbers at a memorial night put on by a hospice for the families of those who had passed during the year.  

As fate would have it, Adam got bronchitis the night before the Christmas Concert and couldn't sing in the choir (after two months of rehearsing :) or do the hospice music, but I was told by the hospice that I could do the gig as a solo. While pondering a new program sans Adam, I couldn't help feeling that the story behind the words Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote and the song itself, would be perfect for those mourning the recent loss of a loved one.  Now that I knew the emotions and events behind Longfellow's words, though, the melodies and arrangements I found of "I Heard the Bells" did not feel right.  I wanted something I could sing and play for these families that would express that loss of a loved one, and then the hope made possible through Christ. 

The piece I played for the hospice I still don't feel has found that "sweet spot," but I thought I'd share its current version before the season is over.  

 "The Bells of Christmas"

 

 

(Yes, the link is gone to Bells of Christmas ... maybe it'll be back next year? Needs...scrubbing!)

More Savior Like Thee

Being the Sabbath, I thought I would share a simple slideshow set to music I wrote that tries to convey my feelings as a Christian seeking God's grace.

Our Desire to Communicate

I once read a book that talked about a man's experience in the afterlife while he was in a coma. Whether or not you believe such things are possible, I think something he described has a lot to do with music and art. He talked about what happens when people embrace there. He described it as being one of his favorite parts of his experience.

People did not say "Hi" or shake hands, they embraced and it was like you gave "a feeling and synopsis of your life to one another. Suddenly you [knew] and [understood] a person in ways far beyond any verbal communication. It [created] an instant bond . . . [that built] a foundation for loving one another more perfectly." (from The Message by Lance Richardson)

I think that music and other forms of art can give us a similar experience here - especially music. Leo Tolstoy says in What is Art that true art is "a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress towards well-being of individuals." I'd recommend reading all that is found at the previous link (or the whole book - which is what I'm working on currently).

There is a reason that music has been called the "universal language." It has the ability to communicate in a way that language cannot. But why doesn't it do that every time? Why do I come away disappointed from some concerts that are performed perfectly and yet come away "fed" and inspired by other musicians that may have been technically accurate or not? Why can some performances communicate to me and join an audience together and others not? I think these are very important questions.