on beethoven, pt. 1.
when i was younger, we listened to mozart in my house. i would hum along with the sounds that i heard. i loved mozart. we all did. i still know all of that music so well, and it is very close to me.
when i was in england, though, one day we went to see the london symphony orchestra during a rehearsal. suzanne coughed the entire time, and the conductor actually turned around and told whoever was coughing to quit it or leave. they played beethoven's fifth, and i believe sixth, symphonies.
of course, i had heard the famous fifth symphony before. who hasn't? it's easy enough to sing. really, you don't even need to sing it. you can get the gist of it just by reading "dum dum dum duuuuuuum." but hearing it, in a music hall, being played by a huge orchestra, with double basses and cellos and trombones and tubas and everything, is something entirely different. i think a little piece of me changed that day, because i began to hear music in a radically different way. the deeps grew deeper, and those wide melodies and sunshine became brighter.
we never listened to beethoven in my family, and i don't really know why. i asked my dad about this last year, but he didn't really seem to know. still, i think beethoven might be intimidating. mozart is so easy to listen to, and to enjoy, and it's all so good and accesible, especially to the lay-listener.
and a lot of beethoven is, too. but a lot of it is really difficult. and some of it is really harsh. and some of it is downright depressing. and i shudder to think of the children we might have been had we listened to the late beethoven piano sonatas instead of the overture to le nozze di figaro.
despite that healthy dose of mozart, though, it is in beethoven that i have found joy upon joy. beethoven, i believe, was a prophet, and made music the mouthpiece of the lord. fury and wrath were combined with the tenderness and compassion that can bring someone to tears.
this morning, when i turned on my car, the fifth symphony was on the radio, and i was able to drive down the highway, with the sun just barely rising above the corn, and fog sunk deep into the ditches, listening to that huge orchestra play the transcribed heart of god. the hottest heat in the world couldn't have kept the goosebumps off of my skin, nor could any image erase the look of pure awe and admiration from my face. and in my heart and mind, there was love.
when i was in england, though, one day we went to see the london symphony orchestra during a rehearsal. suzanne coughed the entire time, and the conductor actually turned around and told whoever was coughing to quit it or leave. they played beethoven's fifth, and i believe sixth, symphonies.
of course, i had heard the famous fifth symphony before. who hasn't? it's easy enough to sing. really, you don't even need to sing it. you can get the gist of it just by reading "dum dum dum duuuuuuum." but hearing it, in a music hall, being played by a huge orchestra, with double basses and cellos and trombones and tubas and everything, is something entirely different. i think a little piece of me changed that day, because i began to hear music in a radically different way. the deeps grew deeper, and those wide melodies and sunshine became brighter.
we never listened to beethoven in my family, and i don't really know why. i asked my dad about this last year, but he didn't really seem to know. still, i think beethoven might be intimidating. mozart is so easy to listen to, and to enjoy, and it's all so good and accesible, especially to the lay-listener.
and a lot of beethoven is, too. but a lot of it is really difficult. and some of it is really harsh. and some of it is downright depressing. and i shudder to think of the children we might have been had we listened to the late beethoven piano sonatas instead of the overture to le nozze di figaro.
despite that healthy dose of mozart, though, it is in beethoven that i have found joy upon joy. beethoven, i believe, was a prophet, and made music the mouthpiece of the lord. fury and wrath were combined with the tenderness and compassion that can bring someone to tears.
this morning, when i turned on my car, the fifth symphony was on the radio, and i was able to drive down the highway, with the sun just barely rising above the corn, and fog sunk deep into the ditches, listening to that huge orchestra play the transcribed heart of god. the hottest heat in the world couldn't have kept the goosebumps off of my skin, nor could any image erase the look of pure awe and admiration from my face. and in my heart and mind, there was love.