oboeinsight

There are times when I write things and later regret them. Something Dan has suggested to me many times — something I’m very slow at putting into practice — is to wait before speaking or writing at times.

Yeah. There you go. Waiting. That’s a problem.

There have been a few times I’ve been reprimanded about what I’ve written here. Sometimes it’s by a person I don’t know. (Believe me, people feel very free to reprimand me when they don’t even know me.) Other times I’ve been reprimanded by someone I do know. And then there are are my own reprimands. Those happen most frequently. When I’m reprimanded in any way, I always seriously consider what has been said (or, when it’s self inflicted, what’s been thought).

And I just removed a couple posts. These were from self inflicted reprimands.

I just didn’t like the way I appeared in very unnecessary posts. So there you go (again).

But … you online reprimanders … if you reprimand me and I email you back and apologize, why do you then just disappear and not respond? I wonder about that. Is it just that you like spanking people, but you don’t appreciate the end results even if I write to apologize? (Hmmm. That could be read in a pun-like way, yes?)

So anyway, there you go. Sometimes I PostStupid™ and that’s just not okay.

A: It is the part of the instrument that is called the “embouchure”.

Q: “What is the mouthpiece?”

Hmmm. I would have wanted to answer “What is the mouth formation used when playing a wind instrument?” or some such thing. (I probably would just have said, “What is the mouth?” knowing that didn’t quite say it all.) But I looked it up and, sure enough, the dictionary gives “mouthpiece” as a definition. But … whew! … it also includes “the adjustment of a player’s mouth to such a mouthpiece”.

I can breathe easy.

Some people don’t react to music. Some feel … well … I guess it must be nothing. I’d hate to feel nothing. And I’m glad that music can make me fall to the floor in tears. I want that.

I enjoyed reading all of this but here’s just a snippet to get you going:

I clicked on the link. In it, Florez hits high C, which is about as high as men can reach, nine times. You hear the crowd roar, and you hear Florez do it all over again. I felt a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. Maybe you’ve done the same when you’ve heard Pavarotti sing his trademark “Nessun Dorma” from “Turandot.” I have, and I sometimes well up at similar musical moments that personally mean nothing and that are sung in a language I do not even comprehend.

But why? Is it because I am witnessing a pinnacle of human achievement — something most people can never dream of doing, let alone actually do? I think so. But I think there’s something else, too; something sensuous in the voice that reaches in and touches something deeper inside of me. After all, I don’t cry when an athlete breaks a record or a scientist makes a breakthrough.

Some psychologists, I’ve learned, call this “aesthetic crying.” It’s a phenomenon that no other species experiences — and maybe not all humans either. Like the crying that can result from a religious experience, this crying is said to be visceral, not learned. Knowing that — despite the sadness associated with crying — I feel rather lucky.

“You have to do things that are hard in life and not to forget,” she says. “With the opera, I’m saying I’m now here, and I speak in the voices of my friends who can’t speak for themselves.”

I was unfamiliar with the story of this opera. I’m guessing (hoping) I’m in the minority. (It’s available on emusic.com.) The article is well worth reading. I’d love to see and hear this.

Scenes from Brundibár, performed by Vienna Boys Choir

Am I all alone in the world after all?

Kidding.

Not one person attempted a guess or even asked me what my three sentences were from. I will try not to take that personally, assume no one reads this blog or, even worse, everyone hates me.

I said I’ll try … no guarantee of success. 😉

Kidding. Again.

Anyway, just because I know you are all too shy to ask, I’ll tell you. It’s from The Cunning Little Vixen by Rudolf Tesnohlidek. A book I have sitting here that I really must read because I have to return it to a friend. (I’m such a slow reader, and right now I’m reading Dillard’s The Maytrees, which I thought was about trees. It’s not. Go figure.)