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Tuesday 6 November 2018

Music for bad back, hip, thigh, calf

At home, without letting V know, I’ve been teaching myself Purcell’s My Dearest, My Fairest. Difficult doing it alone, it’s a duet.

Meanwhile the sciatica which crippled me for four months in the winter has returned and the acupuncturist’s needles can’t reach it.

At yesterday’s lesson I reveal all and V suggests we try the first few lines of Dearest. I’m sitting because of the pain and V calls out from the keyboard, “It’s harder than anything you’ve done before.” Occasionally I get it right and my voice blends with V’s, more than an octave above. Bloody marvellous.

Looking at the detail is like opening a Swiss watch. As if Purcell were saying: yes it’s hard but I’ve built in assistance. In passage after passage he provides same-note reference points so that singers don’t lose themselves in a welter of minor keys.

I leave feeling euphoric but it’s a special euphoria. Buoyed up by information, not just inner feeling. Seeing the notation in my mind’s eye as I drive. Symbols for which I’ve never received any sustained formal instruction. Too old for that, I haven’t the time.

I join wife VR at the community centre in free exercise for the elderly, run – coincidentally – by the acupuncturist.  The previous week the standing exercises were murder but I’m determined to take advantage of the euphoria. My determination lasts almost to the end when the seated exercises begin and these are less demanding.

I dwell on the way music now affects my life. Think about Purcell, dead at 36;  me singing his masterpieces at 83, over three-hundred years later.

Here’s what the DUET should sound like, allowing for the domestic acoustic

6 comments:

  1. I am sorry for the return of your sciatica, but hope your music helps you to forget it, for a while at least.

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  2. The video is labelled by H. Purcell, a comment below it says it's Daniel Purcell. No matter to me, it's lovely.

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  3. Avus: Thanks for your good wishes. No music could cause me to forget the pain, it's too strident. The best I can look for is a form of co-existence wherein I can say to myself ("pretend" might more accurate) that my cerebral self can from time to time outpunch the physical.

    MikeM: Yes I noticed that about Daniel. My MDMF score says Henry and is an Augener's Edition. Augener has a serious reputation dating back to 1855, with links to music publishing houses in Leipzig. Until I hear irrefutable proof to the contrary (and the nature of the music is one important supporting strand) I'll cleave to Henry.

    It means a lot to me that you found the music lovely. I hoped you would respond but was quite prepared to accept that you might feel - perhaps - that the duet was too Olde Englysshe. I know enough about your musical interests not to have argued about this. It pleases me enormously that a 300-year-old piece of music can still cause resonances a long way from home. The musical performance you see is comparatively modest (the tenor's a bit too quiet for one thing) but the pleasing relationship between the singers adds its own weight, I think.

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  4. Something especially sweet about seeing two kind- and ordinary-appearing people in casual clothes tilting at such a beautiful piece... Did you listen to the youtube version by two countertenors (Jaroussky and Scholl)? You don't get to see them, but there's Fragonard's "The Letter" from "The Progress of Love" instead--quite an interesting contrast to your link.

    Best wishes and courage on the sciatica. Illness demands a great deal from us. Perhaps you will be inspired on that long subject, the uses of adversity. There is so much suffering of various sorts in life...

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  5. Marly: I'm sparing with the time I spend listening to counter-tenors. They have their place (notably in Handel's opera Theodora) but they offer me nothing in the way of instruction. Unfair of course, but music is nothing if not a meritocracy. I'm pleased you felt that way about the Schimmels, the rapport between them was like another strand in the music: an urging to share their delight. When the soprano alludes to the menace of change, the tenor's "Ah, tell me not so." almost makes me weep.

    Upright is too much. I am combating sciatica by lying on the bedroom floor and doing arm-stretch exercises. As I said to the acupuncturist: "It should be boring but twenty minutes can pass in an eye-blink." I see pain as a post-graduate study to the degree I never took at the university I never attended. Pain as an educator. I hope there was some benefit of this in your recent ordeal.

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