(no subject)
100 years, almost to the hour.
'The Sinking of the Titanic (excerpt)'
by Gavin Bryars
This composition was shared with me back in college, around 1995, by my now mother-in-law when she learned of my obsession with the Titanic tragedy. It is one of the most beautiful, haunting pieces of music, an emulation of what the 'band that played on' on the ship would sound like underwater; 'Nearer My God To Thee', one of the rumored pieces they'd played. I don't know where our copy is at the moment, but it's been used for various purposes; it was my lullaby throughout my teens and twenties, then Gavvy's as a baby. Though it's long, listen, even if it's just in the background.
I don't know what had drawn me to the tragedy, what had captured my attention for so many years. I've always been one to attach myself to historical figures/events (Billy the Kid, Col. Robert Gould Shaw, etc., the Civil War, etc.), and find myself obsessed with haunting myself. It's the urge to never forget, to know everything you can about something important. It's why I fell in love with silent films back in college; one still from 'Way Down East', Lillian Gish staring at the sky above had stoked something I still to this day can't describe. I'd order hers and other silents directly from 'Saturday Matinee' at the mall, where they'd let me go through their giant order-books to find titles. Videos that weighed a few pounds, $30+ a pop. But I needed them.
I watched a fantastic video on youtube the other day, documenting James Cameron's 2005 revisiting of the Titanic. He made shocking, surprising discoveries; the famous clock (which he used in the film) was still on the mantle; he delved down deep to the Turkish spa, finding the room was almost completely intact when it came to the colored tiles, even canvas chairs (sans canvas). All I could think was People saw these things. There are pictures of these artifacts in books, or personal albums. They still exist. They're here. It makes me feel a little helpless; I'll never see these things for myself, and everyone who'd been there on that ship to see them firsthand are gone. I feel scared in some ways... times past are too distant for the younger ones to feel it. You can throw as many Jacks and Roses at them, but there are no living examples anymore.
I hadn't wanted to see the movie. I'd been so deeply invested, emotionally, in the tragedy that when the movie was announced to be in production, I was actually a little afraid. The only reason I went was because I told my sister we'd go to any movie she wanted for her birthday, and that was her immediate first choice. I took her and a friend of hers out for it and sat there cringing, actually hurting. I still won't watch it to this day. It's good... almost TOO good. But cheap, at the same time. Hard to explain.
My life is my own tribute. It's not that I won't forget, it's that I can't. The books I've collected, pictures, music, they stay close. I'm a hoarder of history. I need it, crave it and mourn tonight for an entire century, most of which I'd never met but feel a part of anyway. Knowing so many here, I know that I'm not alone.
A sweet, solemn peace to us all, today.
'The Sinking of the Titanic (excerpt)'
by Gavin Bryars
Click to viewThis composition was shared with me back in college, around 1995, by my now mother-in-law when she learned of my obsession with the Titanic tragedy. It is one of the most beautiful, haunting pieces of music, an emulation of what the 'band that played on' on the ship would sound like underwater; 'Nearer My God To Thee', one of the rumored pieces they'd played. I don't know where our copy is at the moment, but it's been used for various purposes; it was my lullaby throughout my teens and twenties, then Gavvy's as a baby. Though it's long, listen, even if it's just in the background.
I don't know what had drawn me to the tragedy, what had captured my attention for so many years. I've always been one to attach myself to historical figures/events (Billy the Kid, Col. Robert Gould Shaw, etc., the Civil War, etc.), and find myself obsessed with haunting myself. It's the urge to never forget, to know everything you can about something important. It's why I fell in love with silent films back in college; one still from 'Way Down East', Lillian Gish staring at the sky above had stoked something I still to this day can't describe. I'd order hers and other silents directly from 'Saturday Matinee' at the mall, where they'd let me go through their giant order-books to find titles. Videos that weighed a few pounds, $30+ a pop. But I needed them.
I watched a fantastic video on youtube the other day, documenting James Cameron's 2005 revisiting of the Titanic. He made shocking, surprising discoveries; the famous clock (which he used in the film) was still on the mantle; he delved down deep to the Turkish spa, finding the room was almost completely intact when it came to the colored tiles, even canvas chairs (sans canvas). All I could think was People saw these things. There are pictures of these artifacts in books, or personal albums. They still exist. They're here. It makes me feel a little helpless; I'll never see these things for myself, and everyone who'd been there on that ship to see them firsthand are gone. I feel scared in some ways... times past are too distant for the younger ones to feel it. You can throw as many Jacks and Roses at them, but there are no living examples anymore.
I hadn't wanted to see the movie. I'd been so deeply invested, emotionally, in the tragedy that when the movie was announced to be in production, I was actually a little afraid. The only reason I went was because I told my sister we'd go to any movie she wanted for her birthday, and that was her immediate first choice. I took her and a friend of hers out for it and sat there cringing, actually hurting. I still won't watch it to this day. It's good... almost TOO good. But cheap, at the same time. Hard to explain.
My life is my own tribute. It's not that I won't forget, it's that I can't. The books I've collected, pictures, music, they stay close. I'm a hoarder of history. I need it, crave it and mourn tonight for an entire century, most of which I'd never met but feel a part of anyway. Knowing so many here, I know that I'm not alone.
A sweet, solemn peace to us all, today.