Our last rehearsal was just every other. We ran through the songs we would sing. The notes came like a reflex to us and the rhythm was just as natural. We had been practicing for several weeks for the songs that would flow out of our mouths as we got up on the stage. Ms Tall believed in us. Later that night we would come back to school dressed in our black and white and our band pins glistening in the light.
The cafeteria was filled with the sparkling gold and red of leaves. The risers were set proudly on the front of the stage. The boys wore ties of blue and red and the girls wore their flowing black skirts. This was the earliest we had ever had a chorus concert. We were performing the beautiful songs in our head as we waited in the chorus room. It was not long until Mr Boynton ushered us onstage. Read more »
Inspiration is the fire of life. When I wake up in the morning and feel the rush of excitement as I remember the stars I am reaching for, the goals I have set myself, I feel the warmth of that fire, feeding me the power and desire to succeed. Inspiration can come from anywhere, but especially from the people we meet every day.
When I met the pianist Frank Glazer, I expected to hear a beautiful concert and an interesting lecture following. What I didn’t expect to hear and receive in addition were a philosophy of life and the burning desire to perform one of the pieces on his program—Chopin’s First Ballade. At 98, Frank is more energetic and full of vitality than many far his junior, and as I listened to him perform and spoke with him after, I felt the spark of his excitement for music and life arc to me, grounding itself in my newfound love for the Ballade. Even as that day passed and I turned my inspiration to learning the piece, his words and excitement continued with me, helping me to find the story behind the music: the passion and sorrow and wise, deceiving calm that fills the First Ballade with beauty. Read more »
The sound of crickets outside my window
Is repeated once,
the chirping taking on
a quality much like
Then it stops,
only for the call of the closest cricket
to continue the song.
Soundtrack of Life
Tune of the wind
In beautiful faces
Whistling a rhythm. Read more »
The smooth keys of ivory and the slivers of void nestled between them
Your fingers guide them in a dance, up and down
Up and down like the pedal
In and out is your breath, you sway
To more than the strings being hit behind the polished wood
The emotion, vibrating the floor beneath your feet Read more »
I just can't figure out how to create one. To start one, to find the thread that knots the corner, it says.
It being the doubt that exists in all of us. It being the wanting to blend into the irrelevance of reality.
I try to explain it gently, in the tone one uses with a small child, that the only way to begin is to listen, and to learn.
It doesn't believe me right away. It looks at me skeptically, in the way something can when it is not a characteristic part of someone's soul.
This confuses me, as, this is exactly what it is. It is a seed implanted in my being. This reaffirms my uncertainty of my own sanity, which in itself is not entirely unusual, as I feel slightly mad on a daily basis. As it is not so out of the ordinary, I return to the conversation I had been having with my superego.
I show it. I open a new tab and type "Pandora" into the bar up top. The track is Viva la Vida by Coldplay. I close my eyes and we listen. My mind travels first past the voices and the lyrics to the chord structure, wading through the thick fourths and minor sixths. My fingers find a handhold in the musical instruments, a small, jagged break in the smooth instrumental walls, and hold on tight as I am whisked through the different parts at light speed, watching the colors and emotions fly by me in a cascade of contrast. Read more »
My piano teacher makes it fun to play the piano, she does duets with me and she shows me songs that I really like. The duets that she does with me play the black notes and the white notes. Also the duets have really cool beats and sounds. My piano teacher is amazing at playing the piano, she been playing a long time and if I ask “do you know how to play this song?” will start she playing it. She plays Christmas songs with me. Another reason why I wished someone told me I can play the piano before because I get to learn so many songs every week some of my choice or some that she thinks I should play. When my music teacher plays the piano it is like the sound of the birds in the morning singing or cheerful cool beat.
Playing piano comes in handy because if you want to be in a band or an orchestra you have an instrument that you know how to play. I was in a band last year, and now this year I am in a band that 8 girls including me. We have lead singers and people playing instruments and I am playing the piano and singing. Last year I was in a band with 5 other kids and I was playing the piano. Last year I was also in an orchestra with maybe 12 other kids playing the strings and I played the piano. Then I could teach someone else how to play, I helped my sister a little bit how to play and my brother. I also was in the talent show in 3rd grade and I played a song that I made up. It was fun playing it because I also played at a play in. Read more »
It is my turn. Each atom in my body wants to rebel, to run away, to forget the risk and play it safe. But mind beats matter, and it is my subconscious, trained to answer to the call of my name, that makes my feet push off the floor, and keeps my legs strong enough to hold me. The smooth silk of my gown rustles softly as I stand, eager to be seen in its smooth, graceful glory. I slowly pick up my tools. I cannot do this without them. The rosewood glistens in the llights; its visible beauty is no match for the audible ecstasy that it releases with the soft stroke of the horse hair. I can see them waiting for me, the conductor looking in my direction. I want, I need, to get away, to forget this dream. But a part of me knows that the risk of failure is worth the joy of feeling alive for those few short minutes. I take a step, and remember to smile. The audience sees a young girl in a beautiful dress, confident, ready, and willing to do her part. I know that that same girl, the girl that is me, sees herself as frightened, cowardly, thick-fingered and slow, as she always does just before it begins. But under the terror, there is a beautiful anticipation of those first few notes. The opening applause is like rain, rain on a day when it is falling so hard and fast that the sound covers everything. I grant a graceful smile to those who have applauded. A nod to the conductor, a smile to the concertmaster, and then there is no time to wait. I raise my violin, position my beautiful bow above the metallic strings, and that is all that it takes. Read more »
On a wide and noisy battlefield,
Rectangular, not square,
Two great armies met at last,
Battle music in the air.
Ranks and ranks of black-clad soldiers,
Much taller than their foes,
Fought their white-garbed enemies,
In twos and threes, in rows.
Above the battle, a great god sat,
Orchestrating the fierce fight,
The god enjoyed war's music,
And listened through the night.
Where the god's quick fingers touched,
A sound, bass to soprano,
Rose from the tuneful raging,
Of the battling piano.
I feel the echoes of performers past,
who have sat and bent their heads
to better hear the music.
I feel the pause each person takes—
that extra silence
of an indrawn breath—
as he, too, waits
for the music to come.
shivering on the cusp of realization,
long fingers drawing patterns
on the ivory stepping-stones,
pathways of sound.
Morning light and contemplative music warms the air.
Are you afraid to speak,
afraid to beak the spell?
Can you feel the spirits of a thousand audiences
watching from these seats,
conjured by the music?
Sometimes it feels like you can see music notes floating through the air as you press your fingers down on a creamy white key. Its kind of like the sounds form a funnel cloud around you and then its only you. Alone, hypnotized by the way you listen to the notes skipping along the page.
It's like there's a choir formed when you play music. The way the keys hit the sound strings creates a vibe thats like a harmony. The notes running across the pages look like the happy, cheary voices. And then me, sitting in the front row. Now there isn't any room for me in the choir, so I take a seat on a small black bench and let my fingers do the work.
Lightning flashes, distant clashes
Skies cry as neighbors make their dashes
Under shelter, it's not the same
As dancing in the pouring rain
Hair dripping, feet pounding
My clothing soaked through, it's astounding
Your gaze cuts through me, a slash of heat
Thousands of hands clap out the beat
Distant drum strokes, spinning lights
This lovely part of August nights
And you're pressing close, our dance begins
Breath blows warm on ocean skin
Bare feet scrape soft on pavement floors
Seeking something never yours
Our responsibilities worlds away
Feels like you were here to stay
Tripping now, clumsy hearts
Fall too hard, tumble apart
So sad our moment lasts only now
As knives of sun cut through the clouds
Summer breezes scatter traces
As people fall neatly in their places
You in yours and me in mine
And only raindrops still keep time
As our cover shatters, you are gone
As quickly as the blinding sun
Under shelter, it's not the same
As dancing in the pouring rain
you are dusty attics and blistering
red wood and organic
you are rainy days when the house
autumn nights when
summer afternoons in
you are a
songs that fall into
you are a dreamcatcher
that weaves good nights
a fulfiller of
you walk me to the past,
to the future,
push me to the edge of the
catch me as I fall into
penetrating white and golden brass
behind honey-colored wood
and waltzing horse hair,
piano with british inflections,
a crescendo of laughs,
and red-rose fingers.
stepping into storms and
walking out hand-in-hand;
we melt into a pot
and meld our passions
into iron walls.
chains of emotions
love runs under beams of
we build the ethos
of this room
build it from
insipid meals and midnight ties and
from infinite sunday-afternoon hours,
from russian churches and cobblestone tallinn
we build it ourselves.
I'm a ghost guard on all our memories, my dear,
sitting up late with my fat warm glass of pink lemonade
and your name in my eyes and your songs in my voice, flaking onto the pages.
I'm going to stand sentinel on all these years, way back
through orange crocheted circle moons on orange buses that
burnt us, matted music knotted through our hair and eyes and lips and voices,
crisscrossed chords dyed together, all the same smudged blurred colors
that we painted every thread.
I can timeline our knitted lives, way back to that one October night
when we met, snaking through second after second after second until
now, the time when it all knits together and unravels, all at once in
frayed loud songs across the graduating sky and you
right behind me, singing again. I will stand sentinel to these years because
they happened, my dear, they happened.
We are molting tangled yarn songs because we have sung a lot of them.
Still still anticipation
Locks my breath
Inside my catching lungs
Heart beat increasing with
Every lengthy second and
When the lights go down
Screams rise around me
Me, unable to make a sound
Eyes wide, lean forward, waiting
A crash of thunder shakes
My bones, hurls my soul, bursts my heart
The screams rioting, dropping
To listen, with me, swaying
Intent on the roll of thunder
Releasing a patter of rain
Quickening racing hearts
Whirling sticks over nimble fingers
Entrance at first sight before
Firmly snapped forward
They shatter my ears
As the thunder crashes over
A small trill of a bird the
High pitched cymbal
Trickles away, to silence
A volcano of screams erupts
Searing light gleams down while
I remain caught in the spell
Still, still, with anticipation
lasts for an eternity,
keeping you in that moment,
until it's only a memory in your heart.
it's own world,
holding on to you,
pulling you in,
until it lets you go,
and you flown to the next one.
weaving in and out,
up and down,
until you are completely lost,
until it frees you,
and all you want
is for the music to hold you in it's clutches
It was a hectic day at school! Came home to find, I left my school play audition folder in my locker, and my music on the bus.
Then, mom came home, and, I had a few other auditions for local theater this week that have been postponed one week, adding to the two I already have. Anyway, this week, I get to find donors for ACS Daffodil Days.
I guess next week is going to be less than dull. It's going to be C-R-A-Z-Y- !-!-!-!
Yesterday, I performed Beethoven's 9th Symphony at the Elley-Long Center in Colchester, VT with the Green Mountain Mahler Festival.
It was the first time I have ever sang this piece of music.
A lot of hard work, meaning I had to learn it in German, and practice went into this.
Although, I was the youngest performer there, I certainly gained so much by not being afraid to ask for help from others. Read more »
You told me once that
Being underwater in the ocean
Is like flying in outer space
Cause you need a suit to see the beauty
And you can see a whole world
You never saw before
And for one crystal moment
You are weightless
And everything makes sense.
I get where you’re coming from
But I think you’re wrong
I think that flying
Is like listening to Etta James.
Flying is like listening to Etta James Read more »
Holding the key
to my cage.
Is there only a first row?
Up and down
The ebony smooth.
Left and right
‘cross the silver line
Heavy but aloof.
Casting my sound Read more »
One day when you were playing Original Soul
On your awful old CD player that you’ve had to fix
More times than I’ve got fingers
You said out of nowhere in the middle
Of Grace singing about hidden superstitions Read more »
It starts out all cheery, whistling a few notes before it really kicks off.
With a scream.
Not angry, but it's definitely emotional.
Has a way of drawing you in, unlike angry screams.
Achieving this sound is not easy; might even be considered art.
In a twisted sort of way.
A few long, solid seconds of aching and drumming and guitar strumming.
And then- right on unexpected cue- lyrics.
As if your head isn't already exploding from how all these sounds make you feel at once. Read more »
UNAUTHORIZED DUPLICATION IS A VIOLATION OF APPLICABLE LAWS. Making illegal copies of this disk is illegal, obviously. If you steal it, we lose money, and so does the store you stole it from, and if mutts like you keep stealing from them, not only will your favorite band go bankrupt, but so will the store. Then who will be your role model? The men you've just forced into poverty? Maybe Lady Gaga? Ha. Good luck with that. And more importantly, where will you buy your carcinogenic Jolly Rancher sodas? Don't steal. It's wrong and stuff.