The Magic of Music

Friday the 7^th, on Mercer Island: I was supposed to be on the road with Ann heading for Mazama, in The Methow, for a five-day warmup for next month’s skiing in Sun Valley. But no, here we are stuck (thank goodness we are blessed with a warm, secure and comfortable home unlike those poor souls out there in tents), unpacking luggage for things to wear and the portable fridge for breakfast fare, trapped in this Puget Sound basin by huge snowfalls in the passes, land-slides north and south, flooding of the rivers flowing through to the Sound and the relentless, torrential rain. All is shut down; nothing to do but ruminate.

The Magic of Music

Yesterday, my friend Bill R gave to our luncheon speakers’ club a charming talk entitled “The Magic of Music”, a back-in-the-day tale of the Claremont College choir of which he must have been a stand-out member (Bill then a full 6’8”.) The choir had been invited to repeat its Mozart’s Requiem at Saint Andrew’s Abbey, a monastic retreat in the Mojave Desert. The choir sang in the rustic outdoor chapel to the Sunday mass congregants, mainly migrant farm workers from nearby camps and fields, people rarely if ever exposed to full choirs and such music. They sat in stunned wonder, then burst forth their tearful joy and gratitude, often only in Spanish, but clearly communicating to these supposedly worldly, somewhat cynical college kids what their gift had given. In turn, Bill and his mates were awed by the response. The magic of music left lasting impressions on both choir and audience.

 Music has brought magic to Ann’s and my shared lives.

Last night we went to Benaroya Hall to hear the Seattle Symphony do a program of John Adams’ music, conducted by Adams, himself. I knew little of Adams, thinking of him mainly as a minimalist. He long since left minimalism behind, now composing elaborate, challenging, technically demanding works inspired by current contemporary events and themes, e.g., his opera Nixon in China. The first piece last night was a musical interpretation of his hair-raising ride in a 1950’s Ferrari; the third, a full symphony inspired by the sound tracks of film noir and the driving be-bop of Coltrane, Parker, and Johnson.  

The second was our favorite because of its form, a piano concerto, and its soloist, Jeremy Denk. Jeremy we’ve met a few times when he used to appear in the Seattle Chamber Music Society’s Summer Festival. Some years back, Ann and I dining at a New York restaurant, encountered Jeremy who not only recognized us but also dredged up our names from his memory bank.  Oh, to be young and a genius; names never to be misplaced on the end of one’s tongue!

To be married to Ann is to be bathed in music.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

During spring and summer, music spills out into the street from our open windows and doors. It is her constant companion (and because of hearing loss, a high decibel companion for sure) – symphony, chamber, opera, interspersed occasionally with my jazz. In the evenings: piano practice. I love to hear home music practice for it says to me “a happy home.”

I spared you the video of
Piper at full howl.

It’s not just our home. For our 13-yr old grandson, Max, music is all-consuming: trumpet, keyboard, guitar, drumming, and composition. When the family visits, it takes only minutes before Max is improvising on the piano. At home, his accompanist is Piper.

Max got that Harmon
mute Jay Thomas 
recommended

Ann was my tolerant companion to Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra concerts. Now I have an enthusiastic companion to whom I’ve introduced saxophonist and artistic director Mike Brockman, pianist Randy Halberstadt, trumpeter Jay Thomas, and others of its stars. Max plays in the Middle School jazz and marching bands under Music Director and SRJO trombonist David Bentley and his staff. 

  

Tonya and Parker: aspiring
pianists, also.

Ballet and Bernstein

Over the holidays, Max went, out of loyalty to sister Molly’s dancing, to two Nutcrackers; for Grandpa, one is enough.  On Christmas afternoon, Max’s uncle Grant took Tonya and cousin Parker to view Spielberg’s revival of West Side Story. That, in turn, reminded Ann and me of Bernstein’s recording session with glorious Kiri Te Kanawa and Tatiana Troyanos and poor, badgered Jose Carreras. We YouTube’d the video and have spent the last week humming, singing, and whistling those magic Bernstein songs.

 

Music’s magic has brought me great joy.

My first date with Ann was a Summer Festival concert after her picnic-basket-dinner and my wine on the lawn of Lakeside. And who could have predicted that having been, on a lark, a supernumerary in the Met’s annual tour appearances in Minneapolis, that I would really become an opera fan under Ann’s tutelage? Or that violinist, conductor, and PBS star of Now Hear This, Scott Yoo, would become a close and dear friend of ours? The Magic of Music, indeed.