andave_ya
09-08-2009, 08:59 AM
What I remember most about that night was that final piece. The other performances were pleasant, enjoyable, and well done, but that final aria…It was the first time I had heard a soprano sing live, and no recording can possibly hope to match up to that.
It was beautiful.
The air itself seemed saturated with the aching music flowing from her throat. It was tangible. I felt like I could reach my hand up and break a piece of the melody off, and it would be like liquid fire and ice in my hand, for who can hold a piece of music forever? I could see it flowing in great gems from between my fingers, rubies and diamonds plinking into puddles on the ground.
She sang “Pace, Pace” by Verdi, and it lasted long enough for me to be able to walk into the nuances of her voice and taste of the “lived-in” feeling, the “roominess” of the melody and the eloquent voice behind it.
I learned something about my Land of Words that day. Humanity seemed to resolve itself into three levels: people, wordsmiths and artists, and fine artists. By fine art I mean the intangible - everything from principles and morals to voice and dance and color. It’s for the wordsmiths and artists to describe those things in another way and, most importantly, to describe the way it affects people, those who otherwise would be without an anchor. That’s how I felt when I heard “Pace, Pace,” that day, until I had pinpointed and described how it made me feel and what it made me think of. That’s where the fire and ice came in, and when the memory of that night is sufficient to send a seductive thrill down my spine, how much more then adds the inner picture of fire and ice dripping in globules of jewels from my pudgy hand?
It was beautiful.
The air itself seemed saturated with the aching music flowing from her throat. It was tangible. I felt like I could reach my hand up and break a piece of the melody off, and it would be like liquid fire and ice in my hand, for who can hold a piece of music forever? I could see it flowing in great gems from between my fingers, rubies and diamonds plinking into puddles on the ground.
She sang “Pace, Pace” by Verdi, and it lasted long enough for me to be able to walk into the nuances of her voice and taste of the “lived-in” feeling, the “roominess” of the melody and the eloquent voice behind it.
I learned something about my Land of Words that day. Humanity seemed to resolve itself into three levels: people, wordsmiths and artists, and fine artists. By fine art I mean the intangible - everything from principles and morals to voice and dance and color. It’s for the wordsmiths and artists to describe those things in another way and, most importantly, to describe the way it affects people, those who otherwise would be without an anchor. That’s how I felt when I heard “Pace, Pace,” that day, until I had pinpointed and described how it made me feel and what it made me think of. That’s where the fire and ice came in, and when the memory of that night is sufficient to send a seductive thrill down my spine, how much more then adds the inner picture of fire and ice dripping in globules of jewels from my pudgy hand?