Hey friend, how’s your day? I’ve been working on chores for a while, it’s past time for me to sit down and ‘ave a rest, as I can hear it said my father’s voice with a distinct Lancashire accent. Okay, it’s a little warm for putting the kettle on, maybe I’ll set up a cold beverage. Feel free to play along, be back in a minute.
That’ll do, a large glass of water and a bit of ice. And looks like a storm is coming to make the pause official. It’s been wetter and cooler in these parts than what’s considered normal. And a lot of that wet has come in the form of thunderstorms. Sometimes really local. I understand the northern edge of town got 20 millimetres of rain in a little over an hour the other day, while over the same time this neighbourhood got 70 millimetres. And here it comes, indeed. I can hear it in waves beating against the windows and roof. This can’t last long, although that storm the other day was notable for how it circled around and came back at us with heavy rain several times. If there was a little less wind I’d be sitting out and watching this. I’ll have to make do with the sound, which is what I’m kind of drawn to anyway of course. Lightning is okay, but the sound of rain is something I enjoy. I remember one time standing under cover at the tree line on the shore of a lake and first seeing and then hearing the rain advance towards me on the water. It was an amazing sound. And unusual I guess in that the rain was on the water first, and only hit the trees and made the sound I was used to hearing when it made it as far as where I was standing. And there was no wind to interfere with the rain sound. Regular and effortless and sounding like it was never going to end, you heard no fury in pounding waves of rain, and you just knew it could go on forever without exhausting itself. That it didn’t seemed a miracle somehow.
This is quite different, several minutes of wind-lashed water whipping itself against the walls, then a bit of time where there’s nothing to be heard. And then it begins again. No thunder at the moment, that all seemed to pass at the front of the storm. All the sound is coming come from the wind and the rain. But that’s enough. Glad to be inside. Sort of like it feels when there’s a whole bunch of snow coming down, and you and yours are all safely inside watching it happen. Yeah, glad to be inside.
Oh, it’s funny what my brain gets thinking when my hands are busy with chores. Earlier today I was thinking about what Jacques Attali had to say about music, particularly in his book ‘Noise: The Political Economy of Music. I don’t remember whether you and I have ever talked about it, but one of the things he maintains in that book is that music gives us a ‘rough sketch’ of the society that is being made at the time. By which he means not the society which everyone is experiencing at that time, but the one that is being made and will be the normal experience of people in that society at some time in the future. I must admit I trip over that thought. A lot. The book is also interesting not only for the thoughts he lays down about music’s evolving place in society, and for the thumbnail sketches he gives of a number of things like the invention and evolution of the publishing industry, but it’s remarkable the number of smaller insights that come along and stick around. He points out, for instance, that music cannot be experienced in less time than the music takes to play. And so what music is, in one sense, is time. Fits with how I think of music, too. Even though I have developed the ability to fast forward through a song in my head to get to the part I want to work on, that zipping through it just never has the same oomph as doing it in normal time. And part of what I get from that is that I figure music is actually a shared experience in time, whether that’s shared between the composer and an individual listener, or maybe the performer and many listeners in an audience. And that’s part of what can make music such a potent thing–by its very nature it insists on a shared experience. Not necessarily that we each have the same experience–I honestly don’t think music itself demands a single message or experience–but it insists that we each have our experience at this pace, and over this time.
So in fact whether you believe or even understand the message of the words in the music, that it is music means that there will be a shared experience. And that’s even before we get to any meaning of the content in the music. I figure that’s part of what gives such backbone to music of social significance. Something that’s there even before the content is understood–music will be played, and so we will have an experience, at this pace, over this time.
And this is the sort of thing I find myself wondering about while I’m doing my chores. Odd, I know. I suppose if I’d had the proper sort of education I’d understand this stuff better. Maybe. But I suppose I’ll just have to continue feeling like Dorothy’s scarecrow. ‘I would not be just a nuffin’…’
Ah well. The rain’s slowed down, and there’s no wind at the moment at least. I should probably go and see if there’s been any damage. I’ll let you know how it turns out. Good to sit for a moment, though. Thanks for the excuse. Write when you get a chance. In the meantime I hope this finds you well.