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It is an hour and a half to sunrise.
Nov. 26th, 2003 06:30 amAnd I sit here, gentle reader, with a freshly brewed cup of organic Peruvian coffee, my last cigarette, and Glenn Gould's Grammy winning recording of the Goldberg Variations. I haven't slept a wink, since I had an anxious night. But now it is dark and moonless, and the draft from my window carries a crisp smell that blends with Nag Champa incense and I reflect on beauty.
It's Goldberg that's triggered it. Since I have to wake up at 5:30 (AKA Oh dark hundred) I need structure in my morning. I need nice things, like coffee ready five minutes after I shuffle out of bed. My clothes laid out for me. And, since there is no gradual lightening of the sky to observe at this time in November, quiet time spent with something beautiful.
Gould's Goldberg is that, to me. This was his last studio recording. His trademark piece - he first arranged the originally composed for harpsichord Variations for the piano in the 50's, and the first recording with CBS in 1955 is considerably shorter in length, because he played it so fast it boggles the mind to try to imagine it. His second recording is more measured.
And it's beautiful, gentle readers. It's the sort of music that you don't talk through. You sit, and you listen, and you let it fill you - and then I want to capture it.
I have tried.
"She began something slow and baroque with delicate embellishments, pearl droplets augmenting regal velvet music. Then her fingers came down in forte, and they were flying in a near frantic dance that danced in circles, melodies echoing in the round and coming back to meet."
Still Life, Dead Souls
Published May 2002, Gothic.net
I was trying - rather badly - to describe Aria, moving into Variation 1 a 1 Clav. I listened to it again and again, and that's the best I could do. I listened to that CD on repeat as I wrote Le Bel Homme Sans Merci. I hauled it out again for Bright Wings and Wax. It is without a doubt the most important piece of music recorded as far as my humble career as a writer is concerned.
And it's beautiful.
* * *
Thank you. You were right, I did need a human voice. I'm glad you were there when I did.
It's Goldberg that's triggered it. Since I have to wake up at 5:30 (AKA Oh dark hundred) I need structure in my morning. I need nice things, like coffee ready five minutes after I shuffle out of bed. My clothes laid out for me. And, since there is no gradual lightening of the sky to observe at this time in November, quiet time spent with something beautiful.
Gould's Goldberg is that, to me. This was his last studio recording. His trademark piece - he first arranged the originally composed for harpsichord Variations for the piano in the 50's, and the first recording with CBS in 1955 is considerably shorter in length, because he played it so fast it boggles the mind to try to imagine it. His second recording is more measured.
And it's beautiful, gentle readers. It's the sort of music that you don't talk through. You sit, and you listen, and you let it fill you - and then I want to capture it.
I have tried.
"She began something slow and baroque with delicate embellishments, pearl droplets augmenting regal velvet music. Then her fingers came down in forte, and they were flying in a near frantic dance that danced in circles, melodies echoing in the round and coming back to meet."
Still Life, Dead Souls
Published May 2002, Gothic.net
I was trying - rather badly - to describe Aria, moving into Variation 1 a 1 Clav. I listened to it again and again, and that's the best I could do. I listened to that CD on repeat as I wrote Le Bel Homme Sans Merci. I hauled it out again for Bright Wings and Wax. It is without a doubt the most important piece of music recorded as far as my humble career as a writer is concerned.
And it's beautiful.
Thank you. You were right, I did need a human voice. I'm glad you were there when I did.
