I still think back upon last Friday night with absurd romanticism. Absurd. I'm about to make a complete fool of myself by divulging it all here.
It was dusk and storming as I hit I-40 at about 7:30 PM in heavy traffic, heading over to Duke University; rain sheeted and lightning flared and my bizarre need to not be late to this performance overwhelmed any other thoughts in my brain. All of my life, I've been just on time. Only just. I think I've almost used up my luckily-just-in-time quota on trivial events. As luck would have it, I pulled into the last parking spot and scampered into the first building I saw through the rain, which I fervently hoped was the correct one (it was).
I enjoyed every moment of the graduate student composers' concert, even when certain compositions went so haywire that I was almost convinced I could walk on stage, bow, bang haphazardly upon the keys of that lovely Steinway and have everybody applaud and shake their heads in disbelief as if I'd just done something incredible. Pearls before swine, no doubt. ;)
There was a flute/acoustic guitar series with Celtic influences, a cello sonata (not something you hear often!), a piano piece and a piano/electronic accompaniment series that was probably the most popular. And then there was the 4-movement piece in which S performed; 3-piece orchestral group, men's choir, with tenor soloist (S). The distant thunder and flickers of lightning were excellent counterpoints to the music, and the audience was music-appreciative and utterly, completely silent.
Ever since I was young, I've gotten outrageously nervous for performing friends. I could barely sit through masses in high school in which my best friend, E, often sang soprano solos. Anyway. So, as soon as S walked out and took his place, my heart lurched and fitted like a drunk butterfly as I viewed the stage through an adrenaline haze. I could barely look at him. I vaguely understood that he'd have to snag a fleeting pitch from some random instrumentalist measures before singing, I had an idea of how difficult a piece it was.
With every expressive shake of his head, every absorbed sway, every minute gesture of his free hand, each glance he directed into the eyes of each rapt listener, into mine only once... Maybe, maybe it finally sunk into my brain that he is truly a performer. Every movement was a poignant understatement, every syllable was flawless and rich. He stood in front of all as if he was supposed to be there. He is supposed to be there. It was such an intense realization that I felt like I'd lost something when the performance was over.
And the Whitman lyrics, in first-person, were so... Expansive. Arrogant. Behold:
Movement 2: My tongue, formed from this soil, this air, / Born here of parents born here from parents the same. / Long was I hugged close -- long and long. / I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags, / I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, / I depart as air; if you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles. / I stop somewhere waiting for you. / I am an acme of things accomplished, and I am an encloser of things to be. / Immense have been the preparations for me.
Movement 4: Do I contradict myself? / Very well then, I contradict myself. / There is that in me, I do not know what it is, but I know it is in me. / The furious storm through me careering, / I passionately trembling, / It is without name, it is a word unsaid. / Was somebody asking to see the soul? / See, your own shape and countenance, / See, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands. / See, two hawks in the air, two fishes in the sea, / Not more lawless than we. / See, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslateable. / I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. / Smile O voluptuous Earth! Your lover comes.
No wonder all the ladies were making eyes at him. ;)
It was no big thing to him.
For the rest of the evening, I wrestled with the knowledge that I'd make a horrible, unhappy sidekick. I wonder what I lost.
It was dusk and storming as I hit I-40 at about 7:30 PM in heavy traffic, heading over to Duke University; rain sheeted and lightning flared and my bizarre need to not be late to this performance overwhelmed any other thoughts in my brain. All of my life, I've been just on time. Only just. I think I've almost used up my luckily-just-in-time quota on trivial events. As luck would have it, I pulled into the last parking spot and scampered into the first building I saw through the rain, which I fervently hoped was the correct one (it was).
I enjoyed every moment of the graduate student composers' concert, even when certain compositions went so haywire that I was almost convinced I could walk on stage, bow, bang haphazardly upon the keys of that lovely Steinway and have everybody applaud and shake their heads in disbelief as if I'd just done something incredible. Pearls before swine, no doubt. ;)
There was a flute/acoustic guitar series with Celtic influences, a cello sonata (not something you hear often!), a piano piece and a piano/electronic accompaniment series that was probably the most popular. And then there was the 4-movement piece in which S performed; 3-piece orchestral group, men's choir, with tenor soloist (S). The distant thunder and flickers of lightning were excellent counterpoints to the music, and the audience was music-appreciative and utterly, completely silent.
Ever since I was young, I've gotten outrageously nervous for performing friends. I could barely sit through masses in high school in which my best friend, E, often sang soprano solos. Anyway. So, as soon as S walked out and took his place, my heart lurched and fitted like a drunk butterfly as I viewed the stage through an adrenaline haze. I could barely look at him. I vaguely understood that he'd have to snag a fleeting pitch from some random instrumentalist measures before singing, I had an idea of how difficult a piece it was.
With every expressive shake of his head, every absorbed sway, every minute gesture of his free hand, each glance he directed into the eyes of each rapt listener, into mine only once... Maybe, maybe it finally sunk into my brain that he is truly a performer. Every movement was a poignant understatement, every syllable was flawless and rich. He stood in front of all as if he was supposed to be there. He is supposed to be there. It was such an intense realization that I felt like I'd lost something when the performance was over.
And the Whitman lyrics, in first-person, were so... Expansive. Arrogant. Behold:
Movement 2: My tongue, formed from this soil, this air, / Born here of parents born here from parents the same. / Long was I hugged close -- long and long. / I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags, / I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, / I depart as air; if you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles. / I stop somewhere waiting for you. / I am an acme of things accomplished, and I am an encloser of things to be. / Immense have been the preparations for me.
Movement 4: Do I contradict myself? / Very well then, I contradict myself. / There is that in me, I do not know what it is, but I know it is in me. / The furious storm through me careering, / I passionately trembling, / It is without name, it is a word unsaid. / Was somebody asking to see the soul? / See, your own shape and countenance, / See, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands. / See, two hawks in the air, two fishes in the sea, / Not more lawless than we. / See, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslateable. / I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. / Smile O voluptuous Earth! Your lover comes.
No wonder all the ladies were making eyes at him. ;)
It was no big thing to him.
For the rest of the evening, I wrestled with the knowledge that I'd make a horrible, unhappy sidekick. I wonder what I lost.
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