mysteryoriley

In music composition theory (and I know nothing about this in the technical sense), there are chords that work together to create sounds that simply work.  These are sometimes stacked thirds and fourths that sound good to the ear, and therefore, to the heart of music.  Likewise, there are sus and add chords that create certain combinations of sounds that affect the listener (and the player), and have definitive reasons for being chosen by the composer.  Same as root positions, inversions, spacing, and more.  All very technical, no – mathematical formulas, to one such as me.

What I know of chord voicings is nothing more than the end result.  I am the listener, not the player.  I play words.  Musicians play sounds.  Musicians live in a world of mathematics, and while I may live there, I do not necessarily participate from the same perspective.  I listen, I hear, as a linguist – and therefore from a place that has little to do with an attentiveness to mathematics, but from a place that couldn’t exist without it.  Math is the basis for art (no matter the medium), whether I want to acknowledge it or not.  I’d rather not, truthfully.  I don’t understand math on the surface, nor at its core.  However, I’ve always wondered if I understood it better than I let myself accept.  Math has always seemed sterile and exact, and I am anything but.

What I do recognize, is when a certain musical voicing touches me.  I don’t have to calculate the chord progressions to know that they hit me in the chest, at the core.  I only have to listen…and wipe the tears from my eyes, clutch the tissue in my hand (or my sleeve), and wait for the last resonant harmony to recapture what is left of me.  I often let myself linger at the end of one of these compositions.  I sit in a state of paralysis brought on by sounds that have no language I can speak.   

I spent about two and a half hours on the phone with my brother last night.  We began the conversation when it was still his birthday, April 11.  We ended it, when I could no longer maneuver the linguistic gymnastics appropriate to the celebration of his life.  He’s a musician.  He sang songs from our past into the mouthpiece of his phone, and I listened from the earpiece of mine.  We talked of our family, our friends, our pasts, and our futures.  And, a couple of times, I heard myself chime in when he sang songs from our old days together.  Mostly, these were songs he had composed, and it was as if no time had passed. 

As I move through my life, I often wonder what are those sounds that remind me of music, but would not ordinarily be recognized as such.  These are the harmonies and the voicings I find:

• Nat’s laugh
• the wind whipping across my balcony
• the striking of a match just before lighting the wick of a candle
• Lea’s meanderings through life’s absurdities
• a baby’s cry in the seconds before being cradled by a new parent
• the mating call of a hawk floating on the breeze
• the memory of Owen’s yawn
• waves crashing on the shore, in and out of rhythm with my heartbeat
• leaves rustling in an otherwise quiet night
• cats purring at the foot of my bed
• water pouring into a tub of lavendar bath salts
• the whirring of bicycle tires on a lonesome roadway
• the giggles of children at play
• kitchen chaos during meal preparations
• the clicking of a computer keyboard during an excited, or desperate message
• the raucous laughter of old friends
• the low hum of a setting sun
• the explosion of an idea finding an audience
• the words “I love you” spoken by someone who doesn’t often say it
• the crackling of an evening fire
• a stranger’s “hello”
• toe shoes on a stage of ballet dancers
• my back cracking under the trained hands of a massage therapist
• hands clapping in appreciation of an amazing performance
• the clicking of a camera’s shutter capturing freeze frames of life
• the licking of water against dipping oars on an otherwise calm lake
• fishing line being reeled out for the day’s catch
• the sizzling flash of fire beneath a saute pan in a busy restaurant
• the tap, tap, tap of someone’s foot in rhythm to a favorite song
• the crunch of leaves on a walking path, especially during autumn
• the careful, quiet footsteps of deer in an afternoon field
• the windchimes in our backyard, and those hanging outside our dining room door
• Dave’s voice in the early hours of morning, when I’d rather sleep late
• wrapping paper encasing a gift
• Emmitt’s voice singing songs from when we were young
• a dog barking excitedly when his human arrives homes
• a clasping handshake when an agreement is reached
• the turning pages of a book you can’t read fast enough
• a brush stirring paint in anticipation of the first stroke on canvas
• someone saying “yes” after careful consideration
• a heater’s pilot light catching flame enough to warm a cold evening
• the jingle of keys
• the pop of a piece of fruit separating from its mother’s tree
• the clack-clack-clacking of fan blades on a sultry summer afternoon
• ice clinking against the side of a glass
• the phone ringing after a long wait
• the memory of my mom’s voice saying “thank you”
• and…my own deep breathing just before sleep

Each of these sounds have specific timings, rhythms, colors, and harmonies.  Each of our lives have unique voicings.  I hear them all.  And, when I’m calm, I get the rare opportunity to sing along.

Song for the night: Josefin’s Waltz, Vassen (Owen had just discovered this group, after Dave and I saw them at the Sebastopol Celtic Music Festival in 2006, and brought home one of their CDs – he was quite taken with the nyckelharpa (the stringed and keyed instrument), and he listened to them late into the evening, when all was quiet save for the instruments)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=iJS3ZTf-sWI

~ by Linda on April 12, 2008.

Posted in child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, children, death, family, grief, learning, Life, mothering, mystery, writing
Tags: child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, David Tegnell, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, harmony, Lea Kelley, Linda Siniard, missing persons, music, Nat Riley, nyckelharpa, Owen Riley, Vassen, voicings