the heart never lies?

Is it a saying that the heart never lies?

When work stress was on, my heart rate

(average resting) was 74,  When I visited

family, it was 78.  When I got back home

and was on vacation, it was a better 71. 

When I sang with folks at the pub today,

it was 60 bpm.  Maybe my heart is

deceitful and desperately wicked, but

I think it loves music an awful lot.

after the concert

fingernail moon
follows me home
throat raw from singing

a little thanks

thankful today

in English and real life

cello and snow rhyme

remember when singing

I think as long as I can remember

when singing didn't hurt this much,

I will be okay.

Brahms like clouds

I was trying to figure out why 

I kept thinking of clouds when 

I listened to A German Requiem, 

and I think it's because, 

in the Requiem, Brahms

--like those majestic 

piles of middle-high 

clouds--simply 

refuses to be 

rushed.

Can I have an open sing of Brahms' German Requiem instead of a funeral service when I die?

When I die, instead of a funeral service, I think I would like to have an Open Sing of Brahms' German Requiem (in English, since few of my friends understand German).  It should be conducted by someone with the intensely dramatic, passionate enthusiasm John Hoffacker brings to it (make sure there's nothing above him in reach).  If the soloists could be as good as Justin Staebell and Kristin Morant, it would be amazing.  Since I am not rich and because it's worked pretty well all the times I've done it, I'd recommend all volunteer orchestra and choir with my friends mixed in with whatever voice part they want to listen to (a hard choice since they've all got good stuff) and right up against the orchestra because that makes it even better than a recording.  I might recommend Hamline United Methodist Church, which is a physically and sonically beautiful space, (and so there can be an organ).  I'd like to request a harpist, too.  This is what I would like because this music is so powerful that even when all the instruments aren't there, and nobody can get all the way through the end of the third movement right, and my voice is shot before we finish the rehearsal, which should ruin everything for me and make me miserable during the performance, being a part of the words and the music and the skill with which they were assembled by Brahms and pieced together by an orchestra and choir leaves me with joy, hope, confidence, and peace in the love of God and the place He's prepared for His people to rest.  Those are the kinds of things I'd like people to go away from my funeral carrying.

mourning dove

On the day my uncle finally dies,
I can hear a mourning dove 

on the roof of my home, and 

I cannot bear to do anything 

that makes noise because then 

I might miss 

hearing it sing.

"Mitochondrial Fatigue"

This diagnosis makes me
want to read not Google
or WebMD but A Wind
in the Door by L'Engle
because the mitochondrial
problems there were solved
by singing if I remember
true and I want this all to
be healed by singing too.

On hold to Beethoven's Emperor Piano Concerto

The only thing that made
all the waiting on hold
with the computer help
desk bearable was the
hold music--Beethoven's
Emperor Piano Concerto
(No. 5 in E Flat Major,
Op. 73)--because, even
though it is a terrible
recording with pops and
scratches, I can't help
snickering because the
last time I heard this
lovely piece so much, it
was threaded through an
anime tv show where none
of the characters were
very likeable and all
died brutally by the end,
along with everyone in
the entire world, and this
humorous incongruity is
what keeps the rage at
bay through wasted hours.

ways to drown out the shouty people

Ways to drown out the shouty people in your apartment building when you want to relax and enjoy your days off work

• Play opera music loudly (even if all the ones you need to listen to have Kiri Te Kanawa, who is not your favorite soprano)
• Play your favorite fighting anime loudly
• Keep the AC on constantly
• Other suggestions that are actually relaxing?

in the balcony at the Christmas concert

.
the sharp
shadows cast
by emergency
lights above
the stairs
slice into
each step
and bury
all but
hints of
the beauty
of stained
glass windows
.

the birds outside

.
the fridge is making
disturbingly human noises,
groans like a soul in torment 

but the sound
of the birds
outside is louder
.

Christmas concert 2011

.
moments so sublime
akin to sublimation
applied

beauty burning so
bright I transformed
from solid to spirit without
melting and then

water fell

.

radio station woes (not related to Christmas music)

So, are you really listening to a specific radio station simply because they clearly give the song title and artist for every song as all radio stations should?
Well, I'm also doing it because they don't play songs I actively hate, and they have a playlist that doesn't repeat every 2.5 hours.

A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one.
Also, they don't have 3 DJs in a row who make me crazy.

3, wow.  So that's, what most of the day?
Midday, early evening, and late evening.  People who make me crazy from 9 AM - midnight.
Yikes.
Also, I get reception for them wherever I go.

And that other station where you don't strongly dislike the DJs doesn't?
It has an effective range of 20 miles if there's no wind.  On the other side of the metro area from where I live.  Alas.

Ah.  What happened to that early evening DJ you liked? 
I have no idea.  He just disappeared one day and was replaced by another tasteless, vapid, milquetoast, nice, brainlessly middle class American value endorsing Dad who just kind of makes me want to vomit.

Whoa.  Harsh.
I know.  I feel bad that he irks me so much.  After the last DJ, he feels like a 100% false construct.

You weren't a huge fan of the last DJ at first. 
You're right.  I eventually figured out why: he challenged me.  He made me uncomfortable.  He made me think.  Jesus was real to him, a real Savior who saved him from a shattered life of substance abuse, addiction, and self-destruction.  He was so grateful to that God, so willing to talk about the struggle, so full of compassion and encouragement for people who most of us just want to ignore.  He was amazing.

I can see how Mr. Nice Guy would be a bit bland after that.
Yeah.  Boy Scouts, sports teams, the boat on the lake and the cabin, consumerism, blind assumptions that everyone is the same socio-economic class as you and goes to the same suburban church.  It feels so shallow and superficial.  I'm sure this new guy is sincere, but I can't stand listening to what I perceive as his smarminess for another second.

Why are you so worked up about this?
I don't know.  Maybe it's partly because I'm assuming they fired the other guy for being too edgy and real.  That always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  I'm also mad at myself for thinking that.  The guy had a lot of medical problems; chances are he had to retire.

You just wish they'd told you or something.
But they don't owe it to me or anything.  I'm just being a jerk.  That makes me feel guilty.  So I punish myself with 80s hair bands, 90s British rock, and current pop country music.  A strange sort of self-destruction.

Your specialty.
Sigh.

on a cold winter's night

.
on a cold winter's night

outside my window
a mourning dove quietly
sings itself to sleep
.

the sound ice makes

.
the sound ice makes

for Ann

if I could hear
the sound ice makes
when it is being born
I think it would sound
like wind chimes
.

wind chimes in winter

.

sometimes the sound

of wind chimes

in winter

almost breaks 

my heart

.

Forget You when It's Raining Men

It's time for the week when the radio station begs for donations!  This week is also known as time for me to listen to other radio stations because I already give my radio station money, and they don't play cool and unusual music during begging time.  So, other radio stations.

Heard a hilarious song this morning: Cee Lo Green sang "Forget You," and it made traffic quite bearable.  Just make sure you go looking for the "clean" version, which, in my opinion is way funnier than the unedited version could be.  Swear words would just limit my enjoyment of this ridiculous break-up song.

Also, for the third begging for donation period in a row, I heard "It's Raining Men."  Why?  It's eerie that this seems to happen every time . . .

Heard any good songs or groups lately?

Pub Singing and Merlin's Unrest

A friend invited me to a pub sing, and I was actually free, so I agreed to go.  To prepare, I pulled out my maritime music CD (hooray for random free promos) and gave it a listen.  I headed to the pub after an 11 hour day at work.

This is pub singing, not opera: loud, boisterous, informal, and slightly (increasingly) drunken.  Pitch is not the most important thing.  I'm not sure what is; maybe enthusiasm?  There were sea chanties and hymns and shaped note music.  I knew a couple of the songs and different versions of a couple others, so I couldn't really sing along, per se.  There were some folks who were amazing and a few who were terrible.   All of them were passionate about music.

I kind of wished the director of my a cappella choir and maybe some of the members could go to one of these.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's because I enjoy watching inhabitants of the Great White North encounter rhythm and emotion.  It makes them uncomfortable.  (At a concert I went to recently, the only people moving to the beat were a handful of children too young to have the joy of motion stamped out of them by peer pressure.)  I also think that they might have enjoyed themselves and learned something that could transfer to their classical singing.

My friend goes because he's learning harmony from it, he says.  It's definitely a good place to do that because when you don't know the songs, but you want to sing, you have no choice but to make up your own notes.  The repeated choruses tend to make this easier (as does the fast and loose pitch sometimes).

Did I mention the pitch issues?  It wasn't always as bad as I'm making it seem, but when a room made up of several professional singers can't seem to find the key because of the warbling soloist, you know it's not great.

My friend concluded, "I guess I'm not as fussy about pitch as you are."

My sister would get a kick out of that.  My ear for pitch always drove her crazy and made her nervous about singing in front of me.  And she wasn't even the tone deaf sister.

I seem unwilling to cover my reaction to bad pitch, even now.  I just can't enjoy it, no matter how much passion and love for music is involved.  Why is this?  The world may never know.

Perhaps it's related to why I apparently must move to music when I'm surrounded by people who are uncomfortable around people who move to music?  It doesn't feel like contrary orneriness, though.  I wonder.

They had good root beer.  I enjoyed myself.  Will I ever go again?  Maybe.  There's something undeniably compelling about random people loud enough to drown me out singing whatever the spirit moves them to sing . . .

Something a friend shared with me

I'm not really a linkblogger, but I have to be today.  Check this out (preferably with good headphones).  Also, be sure to check out the link with more information about the project and how it came to be.  It's kind of amazing.

http://www.inbflat.net/