THINKING ABOUT MUSIC

Acrylic of violin

Music has the power to transport us to a different place, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  Sometimes it is the lyrics and/or story, and other times the melody or the voice that takes us back in time by inciting vivid memories of people, places, and events.  But the results are the same; we am pulled into the world of the heart and soul and lifted above life’s daily fray.  I find comfort, inspiration, and encouragement when I allow the music to enter deep within me.

Music can transform loneliness into solitude, grief into sweet sadness, and hopelessness and despair into resolve and determination.  It can evoke memories, sad, and joyful; depending on the music and the circumstances, it can touch the entire range of our emotions.  It is now possible to arrange music into specific playlists to fit one’s current mood or circumstances.  I like to hear Pavarotti’s voice fill the room when I’m working in the studio or cooking pasta, even though I have no idea what he is saying.  Not only is he a silent (or not so silent) link to my mother, (she loved his music) but the sound of his voice seems to belong with my work.

I know nothing about the science of music and cannot discern or appreciate all the variations and nuances of the craft of making music.  My taste in music is very eclectic, determined almost entirely on the emotional response it evokes in me.  It is not unusual for me to be totally clueless regarding the lyrics in a song that I like, but this does not prevent me from enjoying the music by making up my own.

I have learned the value of taking the time to sit in the stillness of my room and allow myself = my soul – to bath in the music’s balm.

Uncle Tony and uncle Alfred

PAVAROTTI AND MOM

My mother was a big fan of Luciano Pavarotti.  She had a modest collection of his records and tapes that she listened to, and was delighted when Patience and I told her we had purchased tickets for all of us to an upcoming concert in Philadelphia.  

The concert was in a sports arena, which has since been torn down, and as we were walking up toward our seats my father, slipped and fell, face down on the concrete steps.  His face was bruised and bleeding; an attendant quickly arrived to help and offered to take him to a first aid station, to which my mother replied, “oh he’s ok, lets get to our seats”.  She had NO intention of missing any of the Pavarotti concert for a few bruises.

Yesterday I watched a Tribute to Pavarotti on a DVD, which included video of one of his concerts, and all I could think of was my mother, and how much she would have enjoyed the opportunities our new technology provides us.  It was another reminder of the good fortune I enjoy, that was not available to her.

1985

1985

 For "good measure" I have to include this photo of me from the early 80's when I still had hair and it was brown.

A Pavarotti Wannabe