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Posts Tagged ‘Music’

Interlude 1

Bach

Johann Sebastian, star shining bright
Singers, musicians swept up in delight
Send me to heaven as seen through your eyes
Cosmic vibrations in human disguise

Pink Floyd

Poets in musical guise charm the ears
Sooth with their magic my troubles and fears
Painting the air with their colours of light
Waking the dreamer my heart to ignite

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Impressions

A miscellany of quatrains

I went into the bank today
To ask them for a loan
It seems the risks were much too small
To do business with me at all

Money once of silver, gold
Now others held of promised worth
Or noughts and ones in cyberspace
That rush around at lightning pace

Art works were standing, hanging round
So many forms meant to astound
I looked outside at flowers and trees
Whose splendour brought me to my knees

The air vibrates from music played
Its waveforms penetrate my ears
To waken sounds mixed here within
A symphony beneath the skin

No moment’s thought does Nature need
To urge creation on its way
With all perfection left behind
No preference does it betray

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Symphonic Poem

I’m unimpressed by mournful song
Or swinging beat that hits me wrong.
The music that I feel inside:
The movements of the moving tide
Of stars born in the depths of space
And worlds that thrive in their embrace
Joined with fond Nature’s lilting strain
Now soothes the fears that still remain.

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Riffs of remembrance

“Will I live tomorrow?
Well, I just can’t say.
Will I live tomorrow?
Well, I just can’t say
But I know for sure
I don’t live today.”

The above taken from the lyrics of “I Don’t Live Today”

“When I die, just keep playing the records”

Jimi Hendrix
…………………………………………………………………

Send me vibrations to seclude
The one who would my mind delude
Let breath of freedom end this feud
Release the dreams so long subdued

Apocalypse

The sun burned down, night flew away
As stamping came the final day
The morning reached behind midday
And afternoon was here to stay

Night lost forever out in space
Fear gripped the remnants of that race
Fires raged, of water was no trace
As Nature wiped clean their disgrace

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Walkabout

An aboriginal in the far north (of Australia) can understand an aboriginal from the far south without understanding his language; he translates the melodies of his songs and therefore knows which path he is walking and where he is from.
From “The Songlines” by Bruce Chatwin

The cause is greater than the man
whether god’s or devil’s plan.
Danger lurks when minds unfold
the nature of Creation’s mould.

A levelling is what we need.
Sever peaks to find the seed
that when tended shall reveal
the secret of the turning wheel.

So sing the song to stir the Earth
and hear the voices of rebirth.
See the road laid out so clear
the one that leads away from here.

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August showers

To the tune of “April Showers”
From the Broadway musical “Bombo” (1921)
(Buddy DeSylva / Louis Silvers)
An original version can be found here

All together now!

Life is not a highway strewn with flowers
But a road where oft things go amiss
When the sun gives way to August showers
Here is the point we should never miss

When August showers they come our way
They drown the flowers and weeds shout, ‘Hey!’
And if it’s hailing, some have regrets
They ever started growing things at all
And having plants as pets

And when we see clouds that bring us chills
The last we think of are daffodils
And there’s a very soggy blackbird
That won’t break into song
Whenever August showers come along

And when we see clouds that bring us chills
The last we think of are daffodils
And there’s a very soggy blackbird
That won’t break into song
Whenever August showers come along

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Bach was back

Who isn’t moved by the music of Johann Sebastian Bach – moved in the positive sense, of course? Well, those who don’t like classical music for starters, and those who do but prefer something with more pizzazz or find even Bach too exotic.

Anyway, there we were yesterday evening sitting high up in a box hanging on the right wall (facing the podium) of a wonderful ultra-modern but tastefully decorated concert hall. An expectant muttering filled the air as Bach admirers from all over the Netherlands waited for something to happen. The piece to be performed was Bach’s St. Matthew’s Passion, in its original form and played with original instruments though not, unfortunately, with the original players and singers. One can’t have everything.

(more…)

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Here below I’ve updated the old song in line with the latest Climategate developments and the upcoming climate conference in Copenhagen

From the film “Hans Christian Andersen” (1952)
(Frank Loesser)

Original lyrics here

For those unfamiliar with this lilting refrain it can be heard here

—————————————————————————

Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
Friendly old girl of a town
‘Neath her tavern light
On this merry night
Let us force CO2 down
To wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
Salty old queen of the sea
Once I mailed away
But I’m sunk today
Singing Copenhagen, wonderful, wonderful
Copenhagen for me

I sailed up the Skagerrak
And sailed down the Kattegat
Through the harbor and up to the quay
And there they stand, windmills on sea
With a welcome so cold and so gray
Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen

Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
Friendly old girl of a town
‘Neath her tavern light
On this merry night
Let democracy just drown
To wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
Salty old queen of the sea
Once they must obey
We can make them pay
Singing Copenhagen, wonderful, wonderful
Copenhagen for me

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Black and white

The sounds of a piano

Notes falling like raindrops onto the still water

Their ripples spreading, mixing

To stir the grains of thought

On the shore of that mysterious sea.

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Sensual organs

I’ve got a nose for business
Which I keep in a jar
I take it out when things get tough
Or approach the bizarre
It sits there on my office desk
And gets strange looks from those
Who wonder what it’s doing there
Sporting a turned up pose

I’ve got an ear for music
Which I keep in a jar
It inclines more to Bach and Brahms
Than twangings of guitar
It sits there next to CDs of
Santana and Pink Floyd
And when I play those very loud
It’s closed and most annoyed

I’ve got an eye for beauty
Which I keep in a jar
It doesn’t look at Auntie Jane
But sees you from afar
It sits there by the window pane
Staring around to view
The wonders born of Nature’s heart
That capture it anew.

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Dancehall

Close harmony comes nearer
As trumpets blow away
And violins and crinolines
Both to the music sway

The trombone’s sliding gently
Across the dancing floor
Amongst the quavers, crotchets, chords
That spring out from the score

The side drum’s in the center
Behind the moving theme
The microphone draws singing breath
Into the unseen stream

The base reaches a high point
Colored by blacks and whites
Old rhythms from a stage now bare
Flow down on silent nights

I hold the one who’s absent
I feel her hand in mine
I see the smiles that sadden now
I drown in sips of wine

An emptiness so filling
Between the couples there
All gaily swirling round and round 
It seems without a care.

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I wish you a Happy Easter, whatever your persuasion.
Yesterday we went to a performance of J. S. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in a beautiful church with, as was revealed, great acoustics. It was a beautiful spring day: the sun shone, the thermometer rose to exceptional heights and a light breeze played its invaluable part.

This is for us a yearly occurrence. Oh we’ve got a digital copy at home, but a live rendering has something special that no dvd, cd, blue-ray or whatever can convey to the senses. It’s what I call a fourth dimension, well perhaps a fifth. Concert-goers of whatever fraternity know what I mean.

Of course it is classical music and not to everyone’s taste I know, but one ought to try it before casting an opinion even if it perhaps could cause some resentment. This piece always brings me to tears of what could, I suppose, be called euphoria, or the feeling that all animals get when the day’s is just about all one could wish a day to be, whether as potential food or as predator. One doesn’t care; in that moment of recognition all is as it should be. In these sobering times an afternoon of release from worldly paranoia in whatever form is more than welcome.

The church was fully packed with devotees crammed into pews where six or at a push seven could sit. They had thoughtfully provided cushions to avoid the worse agitation from the hard bare wood. Worshipers don’t have to be comfortable in the presence of the Almighty.
We sat quite near the orchestra which brings one into a rather intimate contact with the musicians and singers. They seemed on the whole to be rather unemotionally involved though perhaps they’ve just learned to concentrate on the piece at hand; too much emotional involvement could cause a frog in the throat or a misplaced finger at the wrong moment. Anyway they’ve done it all before, probably hundreds of times, so their level of personal involvement may also be a tad reduced by the sandpaper of time.

I won’t go into details though there are marvelous choral passages, magical musical interludes, and exquisite passages painted on the canvas of the mind by the brush strokes of solo instrument and voice. Then there’s the heart rending climax which makes one believe that Bach really knew what God was all about. He’s still telling us.

As far as we were concerned it was a magnificent performance and we didn’t stay around for a third opinion. Wiping our eyes we headed for the nearest café terrace for an unearned beverage to restore our somewhat shaken and stirred inner beings.

Now Vangelis is oozing from the loudspeakers with his El Greco, which I find to be about the only music that is tolerable while writing, and for me a definite stimulant.

Well I hear the outside world calling again, so I’ll have to leave it here probably at just the right moment.

Have a good one.

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