Wanting Memories

I should know better than to listen to songs that I know make me cry :’)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3K_FMvktMpI

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Regret

I just went to the Spring Concert at my old school, in which both of my siblings were playing. I shouldn’t have gone.

It’s always funny being back, of course. Times change, people move on, perceptions differ and the rest of it, but it was not a pleasant jolt of surprise with which I realised that the only pupils I recognised were those in the U6, my sister’s year, and about to leave (- as well, actually, as a sprinkling of L6s who I’m sure were out past their bedtime, for God’s sake)

And my, did it bring back the memories of every school concert that I’d taken part in since Y7. Choir, Chamber Choir, Wind Band, Orchestra. Miss, and Sir, and Mr Taylor on the organ. Friends in my year and the years above and below. The friendship dynamics, and the departmental gossip, and the feeling of belonging to a group of people, having a niche within the school. And of course the music – all the wonderful, tedious, tricky, energising music that we played and sung over the years, and that I will always associate with school whenever I hear it.

All those times are gone.

What aren’t gone are the memories. The good memories, yes, and the bad ones. Every department like that has its friendships but also its politics. I remember the frustration of feeling usurped by other, more confident players. The long series of clarinet teachers that I had over the years, meaning that it wasn’t until U6 that I got some proper technique sorted and started to love playing as opposed to just enjoying it. The fact that whatever I did, and however hard I tried to be confident, I always felt like I was playing second fiddle to someone else who naturally flourished in taking the limelight.

I was never asked to do a solo during sixth form. Nor were others now I think about it – they volunteered themselves – but it always felt a bit presumptuous. Granted I never was and never will be an exceptional performer, but I’d've been perfectly up to the standard of many who do so – I got an A on my A-Level recital after all, so I can’t have been that bad. I just figured that I wasn’t good enough. Yes, I was one of four doing Music A-Level, but that’s just because I enjoyed it, really? Sure, I wasn’t bad. Nothing special in either direction.

I spent a lot of the concert this evening with those thoughts going round my head. Enjoying the music, and admiring the performers, and feeling sad inside that I never was and never could have been one of them – those happy, confident, smart people who didn’t have to stand on the end of a row, sticking out like a sore thumb for being 6′ tall, with big hips and badly fitting trousers. The ones who didn’t freeze and panic as soon as all eyes and ears were on them. The ones who are free to enjoy their time in the Music department without having all subsequent memories defiant and tainted by an ongoing internal battle. The ones who truly believe in themselves.

Music Therapy

From ‘Quaker Faith and Practice’ : even if you are not religious, try to get past the words to the meaning

If I were in charge, singing would be available on prescription. We sang madrigals tonight, and Handel, and Christmas carols – we’re also doing Fauré’s ‘Cantique de Jean Raçine’ and learning bits of Mendelssohn’s ‘St Paul’s Oratorio’ for our big concert in the cathedral in March.

As with everywhere I go these days I had to force myself out of the house. Were I not on the society Exec I probably would not have gone, to be quite honest, because the mental and physical effort required to do anything other than lie in bed staring at the wall is just huge. But my sense of duty got me there, and I have come out energised, uplifted, and relatively sane – sane enough, that is, to put a new bag in my bin, to organise lecture notes into the correct place in my folder, and to join in my housemates’ conversation about ‘Alice in Wonderland’ for a couple of minutes. It will probably be gone by the morning, but I am very quickly learning to treasure these odd snatched hours of normality as and when they come.

I have ‘Torches’ going round and round my head, and I am giddy with the sarcastic relief that it isn’t even December yet!

Evensong

I will have sung Evensong three times this term once the next fortnight is out. Two weeks into term brought Jazz Evensong in St Oswalds, a local CofE church, and I will be singing traditional Evensong in the cathedral on the coming two Mondays – tomorrow with Choral Society, and in eight days’ time with Trevs (college) choir. All of them will be/ have been special in their own way, but it’s tomorrow’s service that I’m particularly looking forward to. It’s going to be very, very beautiful*.

I do not consider myself a Christian. I do not appreciate badly played, wheezing organs, most hymns are pitched way too high for us altos, and music does not play a large part in my religious life, that is to say, any part at all. In theory I love the idea of attending a musical Church service regularly – but the theology gets in the way, because I find that I don’t believe a lot of the words I’m singing: “The foolish body hath said in his heart, There is no God. Corrupt are they, and abominable in their wickedness: there is none that doeth good…” ?

Even in choir-led services, I do draw the line at saying the creed. I do not believe in the resurrection of Christ, in the Holy Catholic Church, and I am not prepared to say those words without a certain level of integrity. Sorry.

But this is the thing – I love, love, love the music. What draws me in is the magic of the chords and the cadences, the shifting harmony and weaving polyphony of the Responses. The rigid structure that allows for such expression in the Psalms. The echoing of voices in a stone acoustic and the sense of being part of a centuries old tradition. The focus on sound and four part ensemble and phrasing. The familiarity of the oft-set words. The purity of plainsong. The Bach, and the Montiverdi, and the Rachmaninov, and the Tavernor. And yes, despite everything, the overwhelming spirituality of it all.

Sometimes I’m very grateful that I sing.

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*Starting at 5:15pm, all welcome! :not-so-subtle plug for those in Durham