This was one of Thomas Hardy's favourite tunes evidently. Although he knew it as 'Jacob'.
Ok - so for those not able to read the hieroglyphs (Lynne!), here are a couple of video links. I like the one played on the mandolin best - I think I want to try and get some 'delicacy' into the way I play it - which will be a bit of a challenge for my melodeon playing!! It does highlight what I said in the introduction to this blog concerning the way tunes are interpreted so differently by different players, and for different purposes... I wonder how they would have danced to it in Thomas Hardy's day?
Enrico on mandolin.
Enrico played on melodeon(s)
Wednesday 5 December 2012
Tuesday 4 December 2012
First tune - Enrico
Well, here is the ABC of the first tune, suggested to me by a dear friend. Video of me playing to follow in a few days - hopefully!!
X: 1
T: Enrico
M: 4/4
L: 1/8
R: reel
K: Dmaj
A |: d2fe dcdB | ABAG F2A2 | d2f2 gfgf | e2a2 a2fe |
d2fe dcdB | ABAG F2A2 | B2gf edec | d2f2 d2z2 :|
|: a2ag fgfe | dedc B2B2 | g2gf efed | cdcB A2Bc |
d2d2 cecA | d2d2 cecA | B2gf edec | d2f2 d2z2 :|
X: 1
T: Enrico
M: 4/4
L: 1/8
R: reel
K: Dmaj
A |: d2fe dcdB | ABAG F2A2 | d2f2 gfgf | e2a2 a2fe |
d2fe dcdB | ABAG F2A2 | B2gf edec | d2f2 d2z2 :|
|: a2ag fgfe | dedc B2B2 | g2gf efed | cdcB A2Bc |
d2d2 cecA | d2d2 cecA | B2gf edec | d2f2 d2z2 :|
Contemplating the quest...
Are musicians born? Are we born with an aching need to express ourselves through the medium of music? Or it something that you develop, that is nurtured- in the womb, as you take your first, tentative steps... who knows? Then what happens to that musicality as we go out, into the big, bad world. This is the start of my journey; a return to the beginning.
My parents are musical, but not musicians. I grew up on an aural diet of my mum's music, as she was at home with us - mostly early Floyd, Bowie and the works of Mike Oldfield. I can't really remember my dad listening to much, but I do remember his lovely, rich tenor when we sang in church on Sundays. I never fell into music; I wasn't obliged to take 'piano lessons' as a way to improve myself; we didn't have the space or money for a piano anyway. I sought music out, it called to me and I couldn't ignore it. My musical journey helped to shape me as a teenager, music flowed through every activity and choice; music gave my life context. When I needed to express myself, music was my medium. At times, it stopped me from being sucked into a whirlwind that potentially could have led to excesses of a different sort. I'm not sure my path has ever been particularly straight, and definitely not narrow, but music has steadied me and kept me from wandering off into the abyss.
This journey hit a hiccup at the point where I decided to study Music at University - by now, I was a Grade VIII flautist and competent vocalist, with a great deal of experience of playing 1st Flute in orchestras, and singing in choirs. I had performed in The Royal Festival Hall, The Royal Albert Hall, sung on film soundtracks and TV programmes... surely I was up to a music degree?? However, I soon realised that a music degree relies heavily on the minute dissection of music, ripping it apart, note by note, so that you can then reconstruct it in your own, meaningless way. A dissection of Berg's Violin Concerto may give a better understanding of his juxtaposition of serialism and tonality, but it doesn't get to the root of why he wrote it.. the creative drive that made him sit down and write in that way, and at that time. To take his techniques, and try to write a pastiche of his work seemed very hollow to me, even at that age. But, I suppose you find ways round these things, and I put my creativity on hold for a while, focusing more on the performance. I can't complain about the experiences that I had while at Sussex, particularly enjoying the opportunity to work with Harrison Birtwistle at Glyndebourne in the days leading up to the premiere of his work 'The Second Mrs Kong'. I remember that, with the arrogance of youth, we looked disdainfully at the ticket holders, who turned up early with their wicker baskets containing canapes and bottles of Dom Perignon... It must be a sign of age that now, that this seems an entirely appropriate way to spend your time before watching the premiere of an opera. I guess even the anarchic music students grow up at some point - and a picnic in a wicker basket does not necessarily a capitalist make! Although, I don't suppose I'll ever stretch to the Dom Perignon!
When I left University, I left my musical dreams behind too. It was still there in me, but it was like a period of grieving for a future that was never to be. Music had been deconstructed to the point that my creativity had been paralysed; I was so concerned about whether the harmonies 'made sense', I forgot to just listen, and feel. I did nothing for 15 years. Silence.
Then, a chance decision to join a Morris side, and that all changed. I found Boggart's Breakfast ( http://www.boggartsbreakfast.org.uk/ ), and promptly fell in love - with the music, the image, the swagger. Suddenly, a world of creativity opened up before me, and the tide bought the music with it. After a short time, I found myself learning the melodeon and I stepped out into the world of music once more.
How very different and unrestrictive to learn an instrument like this! Yes, I can read the dots and with a bit of thought can translate it onto the buttons, but mostly, I learn by ear, and by how something feels under the fingers. For me, when I think of tunes on the melodeon, I think of shapes and patterns - almost like the figures in a dance. The fact that a lot of the tunes are passed from person to person, via pub sessions, friends playing together in campsites, weekends like 'Melodeons at Witney', even web forums like Melodeon.net, means that the tunes retain a very organic feel. Each person translates the tune in their own way - perhaps adding different basses, or harmonising in a different way, dropping a note or putting the tune up an octave because of the limitations of their particular instrument. The tune is always at the heart, but it takes on the character of the people who play it, much like a story. There is no right or wrong, although people will still argue the toss anyway! A tune can also become linked in your mind to the person who first introduced it to you - a lovely tune shared is a special gift indeed.
This blog began as an incentive to learn some new tunes. I'm terrible at sessions! I can barely play anything - but I find this gets worse when I travel down South and I don't seem to even recognise a fraction of the tunes! Everything I play is in Em or Am - the dark Sheffield keys... So, this blog will, on the surface, chart my journey to collect together my own little repertoire... But, knowing me, it'll end up digressing into other areas of interest....
So, the title.... 'After silence...' The thing is, there never really was any silence. Silence is only what you hear when you stop listening....
My parents are musical, but not musicians. I grew up on an aural diet of my mum's music, as she was at home with us - mostly early Floyd, Bowie and the works of Mike Oldfield. I can't really remember my dad listening to much, but I do remember his lovely, rich tenor when we sang in church on Sundays. I never fell into music; I wasn't obliged to take 'piano lessons' as a way to improve myself; we didn't have the space or money for a piano anyway. I sought music out, it called to me and I couldn't ignore it. My musical journey helped to shape me as a teenager, music flowed through every activity and choice; music gave my life context. When I needed to express myself, music was my medium. At times, it stopped me from being sucked into a whirlwind that potentially could have led to excesses of a different sort. I'm not sure my path has ever been particularly straight, and definitely not narrow, but music has steadied me and kept me from wandering off into the abyss.
This journey hit a hiccup at the point where I decided to study Music at University - by now, I was a Grade VIII flautist and competent vocalist, with a great deal of experience of playing 1st Flute in orchestras, and singing in choirs. I had performed in The Royal Festival Hall, The Royal Albert Hall, sung on film soundtracks and TV programmes... surely I was up to a music degree?? However, I soon realised that a music degree relies heavily on the minute dissection of music, ripping it apart, note by note, so that you can then reconstruct it in your own, meaningless way. A dissection of Berg's Violin Concerto may give a better understanding of his juxtaposition of serialism and tonality, but it doesn't get to the root of why he wrote it.. the creative drive that made him sit down and write in that way, and at that time. To take his techniques, and try to write a pastiche of his work seemed very hollow to me, even at that age. But, I suppose you find ways round these things, and I put my creativity on hold for a while, focusing more on the performance. I can't complain about the experiences that I had while at Sussex, particularly enjoying the opportunity to work with Harrison Birtwistle at Glyndebourne in the days leading up to the premiere of his work 'The Second Mrs Kong'. I remember that, with the arrogance of youth, we looked disdainfully at the ticket holders, who turned up early with their wicker baskets containing canapes and bottles of Dom Perignon... It must be a sign of age that now, that this seems an entirely appropriate way to spend your time before watching the premiere of an opera. I guess even the anarchic music students grow up at some point - and a picnic in a wicker basket does not necessarily a capitalist make! Although, I don't suppose I'll ever stretch to the Dom Perignon!
When I left University, I left my musical dreams behind too. It was still there in me, but it was like a period of grieving for a future that was never to be. Music had been deconstructed to the point that my creativity had been paralysed; I was so concerned about whether the harmonies 'made sense', I forgot to just listen, and feel. I did nothing for 15 years. Silence.
Then, a chance decision to join a Morris side, and that all changed. I found Boggart's Breakfast ( http://www.boggartsbreakfast.org.uk/ ), and promptly fell in love - with the music, the image, the swagger. Suddenly, a world of creativity opened up before me, and the tide bought the music with it. After a short time, I found myself learning the melodeon and I stepped out into the world of music once more.
How very different and unrestrictive to learn an instrument like this! Yes, I can read the dots and with a bit of thought can translate it onto the buttons, but mostly, I learn by ear, and by how something feels under the fingers. For me, when I think of tunes on the melodeon, I think of shapes and patterns - almost like the figures in a dance. The fact that a lot of the tunes are passed from person to person, via pub sessions, friends playing together in campsites, weekends like 'Melodeons at Witney', even web forums like Melodeon.net, means that the tunes retain a very organic feel. Each person translates the tune in their own way - perhaps adding different basses, or harmonising in a different way, dropping a note or putting the tune up an octave because of the limitations of their particular instrument. The tune is always at the heart, but it takes on the character of the people who play it, much like a story. There is no right or wrong, although people will still argue the toss anyway! A tune can also become linked in your mind to the person who first introduced it to you - a lovely tune shared is a special gift indeed.
This blog began as an incentive to learn some new tunes. I'm terrible at sessions! I can barely play anything - but I find this gets worse when I travel down South and I don't seem to even recognise a fraction of the tunes! Everything I play is in Em or Am - the dark Sheffield keys... So, this blog will, on the surface, chart my journey to collect together my own little repertoire... But, knowing me, it'll end up digressing into other areas of interest....
So, the title.... 'After silence...' The thing is, there never really was any silence. Silence is only what you hear when you stop listening....
And so, to begin.
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
Aldous Huxley
Aldous Huxley
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)