Meanwhile, Abby helps Mommy explore photography...
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Leonin and Perotin, the School of Notre Dame
I'm taking Music in Western Civilization on-line. These are my comments from class discussion.
Sound and Architecture
Before the creation of notation, music belonged to the air. It called the tribe to the sacred dance and lured bison down for the hunt. The sound of daily life and worship, music faded quickly and could not be recreated. However, in the Middle Ages, mankind aspired to mimic the architecture of god. They built soaring Cathedrals and filled them with art. Among the early cleric-composers who developed the interwoven Gregorian chants, and the system for transcribing them, were Leonin and Perotin. Both were directors of the church of Norte Dame and deeply influenced by the space and grandeur of their surroundings. Leonin’s Allelua, Dies Sanctificatus drifts among the Gothic pillars, a strange and holy homage to man’s ability to create. Its timelessness is a mirror of the architecture and faith that inspired it.
Influence
hmmm...not hard to be considered influential when there's no written history of anyone before them? I find this style of music fascinating, but can't help but wonder about all the music lost to history. How does Leonin's work compare to that of the troubadours, for example? Since they left no writing/notation, the lay singers have no voice for us to hear today. I think it's fascinating to think of how different musical history would be if the Catholic Church had a ban on writing music down and the troubadours had figured it out instead. Would classical music be love songs instead of hymns? hmmm...Something to think about...
Sound and Architecture
Before the creation of notation, music belonged to the air. It called the tribe to the sacred dance and lured bison down for the hunt. The sound of daily life and worship, music faded quickly and could not be recreated. However, in the Middle Ages, mankind aspired to mimic the architecture of god. They built soaring Cathedrals and filled them with art. Among the early cleric-composers who developed the interwoven Gregorian chants, and the system for transcribing them, were Leonin and Perotin. Both were directors of the church of Norte Dame and deeply influenced by the space and grandeur of their surroundings. Leonin’s Allelua, Dies Sanctificatus drifts among the Gothic pillars, a strange and holy homage to man’s ability to create. Its timelessness is a mirror of the architecture and faith that inspired it.
Influence
hmmm...not hard to be considered influential when there's no written history of anyone before them? I find this style of music fascinating, but can't help but wonder about all the music lost to history. How does Leonin's work compare to that of the troubadours, for example? Since they left no writing/notation, the lay singers have no voice for us to hear today. I think it's fascinating to think of how different musical history would be if the Catholic Church had a ban on writing music down and the troubadours had figured it out instead. Would classical music be love songs instead of hymns? hmmm...Something to think about...
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
JC Superstar
There is a tradition that predates the official formation of my Tribe and it implies that any time T(im) H(eather) and C(hris) adventure out together, the entire evening will border on disastrous, but result in good fun for most. Yesterday’s journey to see Jesus Christ Superstar fulfilled this ancient pattern.
Imagine if you will two hippies navigating the busy, well dressed crowd of Jesse Auditorium in search of their ticket carrying friends. Imagine them walking, then waiting, then finally see them alone in the empty hall as they listen to the ragged guitar that introduces Judas to the stage. Imagine about thirty minutes of “I wonder where they are?” “I hope everyone’s ok” “Gee, I bet we look out of place” until the tangled head of Hippie Joe appears and it’s all hugs and “good lord, you guys are late!”
Turns out they were caught in a detour and we missed all but two songs of the first act of the play. However, what we saw was beautiful, a stage dominated by a bridge and luminous multi-colored lighting. I loved the way the chorus was always in motion and how they used singular silver spotlights to imply the gaze and presence of God.
To compensate for the scenes we missed, I sang most of them as we walked to our car to get Trista’s hemp. The necklace she chose was a groovy brown single-strand made with beads I’d pulled from one of Loreena’s old macramé’s. I think they were originally a gift from her dad. I gave Tim his hematite piece, because I felt he needed the stone’s protective energy.
Finally, we wandered down to the Saki bar where I waxed furious at Chris for being drunken-monkey and accidentally body slamming a pretty brunette into the wall. Maybe it’s all the times his inattention has caused me to be similarly trampled that sparked my fury on behalf of the poor girl. Maybe it was the simple embarrassment that’d been brewing since we sauntered into JC Superstar a hour late with Chris and Tim each carrying a beer in one hand.
Silly hippies…
Imagine if you will two hippies navigating the busy, well dressed crowd of Jesse Auditorium in search of their ticket carrying friends. Imagine them walking, then waiting, then finally see them alone in the empty hall as they listen to the ragged guitar that introduces Judas to the stage. Imagine about thirty minutes of “I wonder where they are?” “I hope everyone’s ok” “Gee, I bet we look out of place” until the tangled head of Hippie Joe appears and it’s all hugs and “good lord, you guys are late!”
Turns out they were caught in a detour and we missed all but two songs of the first act of the play. However, what we saw was beautiful, a stage dominated by a bridge and luminous multi-colored lighting. I loved the way the chorus was always in motion and how they used singular silver spotlights to imply the gaze and presence of God.
To compensate for the scenes we missed, I sang most of them as we walked to our car to get Trista’s hemp. The necklace she chose was a groovy brown single-strand made with beads I’d pulled from one of Loreena’s old macramé’s. I think they were originally a gift from her dad. I gave Tim his hematite piece, because I felt he needed the stone’s protective energy.
Finally, we wandered down to the Saki bar where I waxed furious at Chris for being drunken-monkey and accidentally body slamming a pretty brunette into the wall. Maybe it’s all the times his inattention has caused me to be similarly trampled that sparked my fury on behalf of the poor girl. Maybe it was the simple embarrassment that’d been brewing since we sauntered into JC Superstar a hour late with Chris and Tim each carrying a beer in one hand.
Silly hippies…
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Blogging v. Cleaning
Between the full moon and the holy days, when the earth and sun align in the oldest of patterns, I have this luna-tic extra energy. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that out in the world, today’s witches gather to celebrate the pattern. Perhaps it’s the pattern itself humming in my bones. Whatever the reason, it has driven me to create a blog, instead of doing something practical…like wash my dishes or write a paper for my English composition class.
Tomorrow we're traveling to Columbia's Jesse Hall to watch a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar, so I should get busy. There are diaper bags to pack, this hippie mom will be free!
Tomorrow we're traveling to Columbia's Jesse Hall to watch a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar, so I should get busy. There are diaper bags to pack, this hippie mom will be free!
Schwag Song
Welcome Home
Welcome To The Tangle
If I wander, I could linger,
among the mossy sentinel boulders,
where the moon-glow laughter gathers,
and seeps back down to the river.
Heya tangled river woman,
teasing hippies out,
to the dancing pools and green-leaf shade.
Heya paper cups,
and glowing strings,
all the things that gather here,
twist themselves, unfurl themselves,
a spiral in seach of a center.
Welcome To The Tangle
If I wander, I could linger,
among the mossy sentinel boulders,
where the moon-glow laughter gathers,
and seeps back down to the river.
Heya tangled river woman,
teasing hippies out,
to the dancing pools and green-leaf shade.
Heya paper cups,
and glowing strings,
all the things that gather here,
twist themselves, unfurl themselves,
a spiral in seach of a center.
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