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A Complaint to J.S. Bach
A mouldy fig, trapped in the skein of time, Pleas for relief inexorably denied, Looks forward to the past. He Yearns for Hellenic harmony. "Punctus contra punctum"! What curse has the Devil's lyre exposed With discord to destroy The angelic simplicity of yore? Heraclitian Chaos, that flowing wellspring, Plumbed and domesticated, Bound by rules, proscribed by fear, The nemesis of freedom falling upon the ear! Oh, Alas, Alack, Take me back! No more torture can I bear! Undo that twisted melody. Avoid so much polyphony. In unison, stand before Heaven's door! -- A 20th Century Man Uncomfortable in a 21st Century World
Why is it called "Playing" when you make Music?
As I woke this morning, that is the question that was rolling about in my otherwise empty head. Most people would dismiss such a useless question as merely the result of indigestion from the prior evening's meal of greasy canned meat, but I could not so easily dispose of the thought. I don't suppose that it makes much of a difference, but, yes, the words we use are important. The denotative and connotative thought patterns associated with the word "play" are diminutive: engage in activity for enjoyment and recreation rather than a serious or practical purpose For at least the last 2500 years, philosophers have considered music to be an essential element of being human. They have considered music to be a foundational cornerstone to education and life. Why, then, do we use the word " play " when we talk about making music? It seems to me that music has a serious and very practical purpose: music allows us to communicate things that cannot be communicate
High On A Mountain
When I was a young man, I would often walk for days in the mountains of Colorado and New Mexico. At each fork in the trail, I would stop and debate which direction to follow, and sincerely wish that I could follow both. Even today, when I close my eyes, I still see the entire world spread before me just as it was from the top of the trail high in the Weminuche Wilderness! The inevitable choices between this path or that, seem to have always led to a new and even more thrilling vista of possibilities! This morning, this poem came unbidden to my tongue. I hope that you and each of my children and grandchildren will find paths as free and memorable as those which lay before me! +++++++++++++++++++++ High On A Mountain High on a mountain Free as the wind A path lies before me Shall I follow it then? Through meadows of Springtime, To the valley below, Heedless I tarried Where sweet waters flow. I found a cabin ‘Tween the high mountains arms. I thought myself sheltered From evi