A Loss for Words

I've been listening to a lot of instrumental music lately, mostly classical, with as full a bodied orchestra as I can get. I don't know as much about instrumental music as I'd like to pretend. My classical training comes solely from piano sonatas and etudes. But it's become more than just something to listen to for me; listening to instrumental quiets my mind, which is always filled with words. Words, words, words. I'm fairly tired of words at this point, at least the ones that bounce around in my mind like they own the place. I'd much rather fill that place with a dancing soundtrack of notes and melodies, with trills and frills and even dissonance here and there. It much better communicates what I'm feeling these days, and yet it's far less complicated and binding than the words in my head that seem to hold me prisoner. All that is to say is that my radio dial (I really do have a dial and I am so proud) is permanently set to 98.1 KING FM, the classical channel for Seattle, unless, of course, The Prairie Home companion or Travel with Rick Steves is on, and then I happily jump over to NPR, both shows an equally lovely escape.

Here is a piece that has stayed with me so much in the last few months that when I doodle, I draw all the notes. (Just like Beethoven, I'm sure.) I confess, it was its appearance in The King's Speech that sparked my interest. But I couldn't shake it after the film was over--there's something beautiful about the steady dreary and dependable beat playing alongside a melody that is singing and searching uniquely and with hope. As they would say here at good 'ole MHGS, the movement "holds both perspectives well." It has become my lament and my anthem at the same time. Oh, the tension.

So, without further ado, I give you Beethoven's Symphony #7, Movement 2 (according to The King's Speech at least):

           

In Progress,
Lacy