Praeludium and Allegro. EJ has performed this piece for violin several times, the piano part I'm going to try and mangle, to accompany him the next time he plays it, if I can find a piano to practice on.
I played several instruments growing up, played in the local youth orchestra as a teen, competed on the piano. Then technology and science wrapped around my brain and I set music aside to go chase the nature of the universe, sometimes at Mach .82. Later on I started back on piano again, with the Baby Black Grand that was my pride and joy that I bought as a young woman,with $5000 that Mom had left for me from a small annuity when she passed.
I continued to practice, if only for fun, being busy on a farm and still playing jet jockey part time. It's like anything that requires the mind and eye and hands working in coordination, you have to practice it or when you need it, it will be lost to you. So practice I did.
Until one day, I came home to find the Baby Grand being loaded onto the back of a ramshackle farmer's truck. Without telling me, my spouse had sold it for pennies on the dollar for some one's six year old to take lessons, to cover his growing debts. I didn't play again for years.
But it is still something very special to me and starting back with the violin 3 years ago and pianos when I can find one, I'm working the rust off. There will always be a little bit of musician in me, with the scientist in me loving the ordered, mathematical precision of Bach. But there are other composers who speak to me as well. All have something in common, the intensity of many moods put into a single place, laid bare, immediate and profound, played with a single blotting intensity that lay somewhere between sound and awakening.
Many great composers have expressed the extremes of life: affirmation, despair, the sanctity of grace, the rush of sensual pleasure, fertile touch and barren void. But there are certain pieces of work in which all these emotions co-exist in the infinity of a short song, making it fuller, richer, touching a chord deep within.
We play our music as we love, for different reasons, to redeem ourselves through the expresion of it, to find forgiveness as well as reconciliation with what lives deep within. Or perhaps it s nothing more than to discover that love was nothing more than something that led us gently back to ourselves.
Music is the landscape of the absolute, not as defined by black and white, but in those gray shores where beauty ebbs in and away, like the tide, where everything is contingent and nothing simple, and time is so very brief. A place where, as Henry James’s Madame Merle says, "an envelope of circumstances encloses every human life".
Truly good music is a place where genres fuse; where concertos become operatic and arias symphonic; where glee and grief, the downtrodden and the sanctified, become one. A place where time is much too short, as with each note we are aware of our allotted span dwindling, time in which we not only have to find our true path, but derive some joy from the journey.
Music is as life is, it flows like wine and spills like wine, a communion with something as profound and rapturous as heaven. It is caressing whisper, it is epithet. It fills the room as scent does, leaving upon the senses the aftermath of invitation and temporal promise, that secret affidavit, like scent itself.
Praeludium and Allegro by Fritz Kreisler. This is a piece that one does not simply play, one has to feel it from deep within. The first time EJ played it in my living room, I didn't recognize it and as much as I loved it, I had to ask who the composer was. But I was literally struck mute by the music, the beauty and the feelings that it brought, to the point I didn't know what to say. Not just anyone could play this, and I'm not speaking from a technical standpoint.
Itzhak Perlman is one of the few violinists who truly "gets" this piece and it shows. I hope someday to do it justice, if only from the background.