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| An earlier - abortive - attempt to link our home to the online version of the film festival involved this dongle-ish device. Don't you agree it sort of resembles a poisonous snake? |
In old age small difficulties get bigger. I drop a spoon while drying-up and curse inordinately. I wear my downstairs glasses upstairs in my study and am irritated. I forget The Guardian voucher and must, in effect, buy the newspaper twice. Also I am left scarred by techno preparation for watching the Borderlines Film Festival online at home. Instead of in village halls, as previously.
More scarred than I imagined. On Monday I’m waiting at my computer for my Skyped singing lesson to start and my stomach churns. I’m scared, as if I were about to face an audience. Worse, I cannot believe music will comfort me.
Betrayed by my body, my mind and my experiences. For more than five years I have progressed as a singer, exhilarated by creating music, triumphant at managing this most difficult art in my eighties. Proof I can adapt. Yet now…
For at least half an hour I bombard V, my teacher, with my doubts. Not a note is sung. V lives alone and has her own problems but she’s dealt with this kind of thing. She listens and talks, but no word of conventional sympathy; nothing futile like “It will be all right”.
The warm-up no longer consists of repeated scales. Instead, six-note songs, often in a minor key, which V improvises and I copy. Some so lovely they ought to be recorded. Then we’re back to a 2018 lesson and Purcell’s glorious EVENING HYMN. Simple sounding, and difficult as hell. But I’ve always embraced it. And V knows it will embrace me.
Hallelujahs ring out. V’s dog, Floss, barks to join in and we laugh about that afterwards. I am calmed and strengthened by:
Now. Now that the sun has veiled his lightAnd bid the world good night...
And comforted
This was beautifully honest and vulnerable. It's not easy, making art. You have to plug in to the creative imagination every bit as much as you needed to use that snake to watch the film festival online at home. Consider doubt the build-up. Consider singing, in spite of doubt, to be that act of courage that makes you feel that you've earned it. Some battles can never be won, but they still must be fought.
ReplyDeleteI have doubts about writing this to you.
Colette: I can't fully explain how much I appreciate those two adjectives. And, as you rightly say, art is difficult but one mustn't expect sympathy. It's a self-inflicted burden and only a purblind idiot would take it on without expecting it to be hard. One must want to sing very much.
DeleteUp to that moment I'd started every lesson in joyful anticipation. This dreadful uncertainty and fear were all new. Before Skype opened up I not only felt remote (even from V) I felt a fraud. Somehow wasting five years of my life just for the show of it.
V has seen it before in other students. One unable to sing a note, sitting there, mute. She chose the right song because she'd observed my relationship with it. The initial tuition lasted a long time and I'm fairly sure my eagerness was apparent.
I am old, it might happen again. But this time I hope I show more faith beforehand.
Collette has written what I felt at finishing your post far better than I could have.
ReplyDeleteI was overwhelmed seeing this emotional side of your personality, Robbie, and comforted by your openness.
Crow: V deserves a lot of credit. But then so does music itself. One weekly lesson and some solitary fragmentary rehearsals over the other six days don't sound like real commitment. But it's music from the inside and cumulative. We all listen to music and we know what it can do to us, even though it's impossible to explain. Creating music brings us closer to that understanding; the sounds are tangible within our bodies, keen to get out. What we do, despite the imperfections, is original and there's a real thrill to that.
DeleteBeing honest about oneself is risky; suppose no one gives a flying duck? I had hoped for a response even though I wasn't at all sure I deserved one.
Thank you both.
See. It worked. Once again. You were comforted and so are we. If it helps, I felt awful recording my part for a virtual choir video today. But did it.
ReplyDeleteCassandraBeth: And you would know! Great to hear your voice. Music is many things and one is tension: the tremulous route up towards the high note which must be hit fair and square, the eight-note downhill run achieved without blurring, every note articulated, the awkward half-tone interval which you know can be so rewarding.
ReplyDeleteIt may be that some doubt - now and then - is not a bad thing. For music should never be taken for granted and one is embarked on a serious enterprise. What gets me is that Evening Hymn was probably written in the late 1600s, more than 300 years ago. And yet there is nothing subsequent composers could teach Purcell about turning emotion into the most heart-rending sounds.
I trust your apprehensions were transformed. I've been greatly cheered by the magical way electronic choirs have been brought together and made good music. Even though many of the singers were obviously amateur. In particular Leave Her Johnnie, Leave Her by the Longest Johns. Hoping for 100 participants, they got 500 and fitted them all in. Click
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Fow61Zsn2s
Ah, we love a blog post with a happy ending!
ReplyDeleteAnd suddenly I decide to go back to bed. More anon. (Had the 2nd Moderna last night around 6:30...)
Marly: Should I be honoured? Did you get up just to comment on my poignant post or for some more likely natural reason? More important - are you suffering from your jab? My agonised regards.
ReplyDelete