Song of Albion 5

To start at the beginning of this series of posts on music click here. The title "Song of Albion" in an allusion to Stephen Lawhead's trilogy - chosen because his concept echoes some of my own thoughts.

Have you noticed how, in community singing, people rarely give the last note of a phrase its full musical measure? To the point that, if you do, you feel totally out on a limb? You may also have noticed that kid's recorder playing can be painful? And yet a recorder consort can make a surprisingly beautiful noise, for example:

In a recent post I pointed out that you can get away with low resolution colour in video provided outlines in the picture portrayed are sharply defined. Edges, boundaries, have great importance. "Remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set". Children, indeed all of us, need clear boundaries for living. In science at least (what do I know of other subjects?) concise definitions are essential for the development of argument, and a definition limits a concept within a boundary. So it is with music. Without boundaries to say how long a note should be played, or at what pitch or intensity, music would be chaos. "If even lifeless instruments, such as the flute or the harp, do not give distinct notes, how will anyone know what is played?" Correct intonation is what differentiates the good musician from the masses. "Correct", of course, does not necessarily imply rigid time or even perfect pitch because music is not mechanical - it breathes life from its creator.

Boundaries and edges imply variation. If all parts of a picture were the same colour then there would be no edges and it could hardly be called a picture. The amount of variation will of course vary according to mood. Turner (one of my favourite artists) uses this to great effect by exaggerating lack of definition to emphasise the edges of his subject. Presented with chaos the eye tries to find definition. That's how my mother reckoned she could see all many of shapes in cloud formations, shapes that I could never see.

"Rain, Steam and Speed", J. M. W. Turner

The "Fighting Temeraire", J. M. W. Turner

The master knows just where to place an edge to full effect. I used to teach people to drive. When sitting in the passenger seat it becomes quickly obvious whether the student has good control of the car or not. The car obeys a good driver and one feels safe. Conversely the car seems to have a mind of its own and takes the bad driver by surprise: it is uncontrolled, no edges. I know when my piano playing is good because, at those (rather rare) times, I find the sound it makes is exactly what I want.

In community singing (for example praise and worship in church) we may not be wanting a "performance" but I see no reason why the music should not be "good".  Why should our singing always be as loud as possible but the last notes of each phrase be curtailed, why not embrace more variety in rhythm and style, and in instrumental accompaniment? Should we not strive to increase the beauty in all that we do?

Mind you, I remember a man in the church my grandparents went to - Smee was his name I think - he sang the hymns with a loud and raucous voice hopelessly out of tune and, when challenged on the subject, I remember him saying that he knew he couldn't sing well but his over-riding desire was to use whatever he had, voice included, to give glory to his God and no-one was going to stop him. And at the time I bought that argument, and I still do. Nevertheless I long for something better...

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Mowing the lawn

Yesterday I mowed the lawn for the first time in my life.  In case this conjures in my readers' minds a picture of a hitherto unkempt garden I would remind you that I live together with several other families.  Possibly it is because we have a sit-on mower which is considered fun to drive by those who, up till now, have done the job.

The lawn is bestrewn with raised edges - to a gravelled drive and to numerous flower and vegetable beds - and the need to cut right up to the edge adds to the excitement.  On reporting back to the person who usually does the job we shared our common experiences - most of the things that can befall an errant mower had befallen me:

I went a rock he meant to tell me about and the blades made a horrible noise glancing off of it;

One wheel fell off the lawn into a bed whilst circumnavigating a sharp corner;

I got tangled up with a fence whilst negotiating a tight end-of-row turn;

I ripped the new strawberry netting (fear not, I have confessed and pleaded indulgence);

For a whole row I inadvertently had the height set too close so "burnt" the grass;

I did not think to check, so ran out of petrol at the furthest point so had to walk back for more fuel;

I mowed a bedding plant or two that was overflowing onto the grass.

Perhaps I will never be asked again.