Posted by: mydarkestplaces | December 7, 2010

Classical Music

In absolutely no way, shape or form do I claim to know a lot about music. I can read a few notes, count out a basic 4/4 beat, and suss out Mary Had A Little Lamb on a piano, but it has been many a year since I’ve had any formal musical instruction and I, unfortunately, seem to have lost a lot what I did have. I think this is part of the reason why music so fascinates me. I love it. Plain and simple.

Lately, I’ve taken to listening to a lot of classical music. Soaring crescendoes, heart breaking and/or triumphant finishes. The realization that many of the composers whose names we all know – Mozart, Bach, Tchaikovsky, etc. – wrote their masterpieces without the aid of computers to help them along the way. These facts all flabbergast me, interest me, and make me want to know more about the composers and their definitive pieces.

However, it wasn’t until my ride home from work tonight – after listening to yet another piece that I have absolutely no way to identify who it was written or performed by (although I do think it was by a Westerner – Eastern European/Russian composers have a certain feel to their music) – that I realized that part of why I like it so much is that I don’t have memories associated with the music.

While the music indubitably evokes myriad feelings, hearing a certain piece doesn’t automatically bring back memories of that person at that time in that place. That sort of freedom, a mere twenty minutes as I drive to and from work, is just enough to get me out of my own head. If I wasn’t thankful for the beauty of the music to begin with, that freedom would push me over the edge to loving it.

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