Late-night Posts are an Out-of-School Habit

So there's a piano in this one. I do play piano, yes, but it's not my main instrument, nor am I good at it. I play bassoon, and I kind of love it. I'm only just coming up on my fourth year of playing it, but it's really something that I would miss if it left my life. The above picture pretty much describes it (except "Playing makes me feel musical"..... no, really? I wouldn't have guessed!). But much more than anything, music makes me feel. There's a rush that comes from playing in a big, talented ensemble like the one I'm in. And more than that, there's an indescribable emotion that comes from playing music, an emotion that just listening to a piece, no matter how fantastic, can never match. And I feel like it's not just any particular type of song, but all of the songs I've ever played. Even if I hated it, I know I had that emotion present with it.

Our final concert this past year ('07-'08) was kind of hard for me, because for the first time, I actually knew the Seniors we were wishing a fond farewell to. I loved them. And sometimes I just can't get some of the songs we played out of my head, because they were just so beautiful. I was told that people cried when they heard us play certain songs, but sometimes it felt like we were going to cry during certain songs. I remember how we all kind of hated this one piece called Caccia and Chorale, but how we all kind of loved it as well. It had all the great aspects of a masterpiece: The driving force during the caccia, the feel of the chase (even if those runs were a bitch to play), the precise rhythm that accompanied the Morse code section, and the passion of the slow death during the chorale.

We always followed Caccia and Chorale with a piece called Carmina Burana. You're probably familiar with it, even if you don't know the actual name of the piece. It's originally about 27 movements for opera, and was cut down to 13 for band. Of that, we played seven movements. I always kinda referred to it in my head as the mood-swing piece, because it would go from driving, forceful, and dangerous to kinda spooky, to playful, to romantic, and then back to driving, forceful, and dangerous. As amazing as the piece is, I always hated most of it.

One that we didn't include in the final concert but should have was Antithigram. At first, I thought it was an ugly, ugly song that should never have been written. As I became more familiar with it, I started to love it. It had angry, ugly moments that were gorgeous, and it had spooky, sad, dreamlike movements that were beautiful.

My absolute favorite song, however, was called An American Elegy. It's a beautiful, long piece written in memory of the Columbine shooting. It even incorporates the Columbine alma mater. Recently, I've been finding that this song gets stuck in my head because of how beautiful it is. There is not a single part that I hate. Even though I am not a big fan of the upper clarinet/flute sound, the really high, rather quiet parts of the song just give a surreal, angelic feel to the song that words cannot accurately describe. It is a beautiful sound and it is the best musical portrayal of that achingly beautiful, lonely mourning that people feel after a great loss. At the same time, though, it's a sound of hope. I wish my computer wasn't being weird, because I really want to listen to the mp3 on the publishing company's website. You really must listen to this song.

Really.

The website is http://www.manhattanbeachmusic.com/html/mp3.html Scroll down, it's in alphabetical order. You may wish to turn up your volume through the computer, not through the speakers, for best sound quality. Or, you could be like me, and stick a set of earbuds into your computer/speakers for the best effect. It's An American Elegy by Frank Ticheli. While you're there, check out Antithigram by Jack Stamp.

YouTube has a slideshow of many American tragedies set to the music of An American Elegy. It's truly awesome, I highly recommend it if you get the chance to see it. If it doesn't move you to tears, well, there is little hope for you. I mean that in the most loving way possible, of course.