So tell me that Quean Fuchsia isn’t the coolest shit on the internet. I knew she would be. Check this out and tell me it doesn’t come from a beautiful and seasoned mind, ripe with sparking wires of bright intelligence and amusing as all get-out. And I’m not even saying that just because she gushes on about me.
(Okay, maybe just a little bit, but you have to give me some leeway; I’m a fuckin’ Leo ovah heeah.)
Queanie, you’re the tops. I anticipate the evolution of your diary with chihuahua-like quiverings.
My bladder can barely contain its deluge.
Hi. I’m having a Musical Crisis. And it’s become a metaphor for my life — my talents, my aspirations, my accomplishments and my goals.
I recently unearthed a CD I made last year of recordings of the music I played. I gifted this CD as an Xmas prezzie only to people who could love me unconditionally, because some of the recordings were pretty rough. Here are the liner notes from that CD:
The Paltry Repertoire du Marquis Déjà Dû
Recorded under a bewildering variety of deplorable conditions, on crappy recording devices, on a number of inadequate pianos, all variously out of tune, this is a compilation spanning over five years. The songs were recorded in CA, LA, VA, and PA. I orginially started recording the things I played knowing one day I would forget how to play them. Debussy’s “Jardins Sous La Pluie” for example, is a piece I would really like to be able to play now, because it was hella fun, furiously fast, and a good workout. But to quote the King of Austria appearing in the movie “Amadeus,” there are simply “too many notes.”
In addition to the lousy recordings and, in some cases, generational loss from tape to tape to tape, my sundry of livestock make an appearance as well, with birds tweeting and Fonzie the Cat jumping on the keys on a couple of pieces. Still though, posterity demands that I record the occasional piece that caused me any trouble to learn. Most of these pieces are way over my technical expertise, and I really had no business attempting to play them…
…and on it went. I was listening to my (very often) poor playing, but when we got to the Jardins Sous La Pluie piece, I was pretty impressed.
Damn! I used to be able to do things that I can’t any more!
(Musicology as life metaphor, don’t forget.)
I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to relearn some of the lost pieces that I used to play pretty well. A number of froufy-French-fuck Debussy’s pieces; some rather obscure Chopin Études and Préludes; that squirrely, beautiful mess of a man, Rachmaninoff; whimsical, tongue-twisting Schubert; etc., etc.
Some of these songs came back quickly, in the span of an hour browsing the sheet music, the kenetic memory needing only a quick jump-start and my fingers knew where to go. Some, I realised, are lost forever (the fleeting, dainty, and fucking difficult Chopin “Berceuse” lullaby for example).
And when I heard what I used to do to “Jardins…” I nearly burst out in tears.
Flawed? Sure. But I downloaded a “professional” version of it on Napster as a comparison and I think I was doing pretty damn well with it.
What happened to my mid-twenties ambition? That fearless cocksurity that made me think I can get away with something that lofty?
Grandma used to have a placque in her kitchen that said something like, “The wingspan-to-body-shape ratio of the bumble bee makes it physically impossible for the bumble bee to fly. The bumble bee not knowing this, however, goes ahead and flies anyway.”
Invincible. That’s what I used to be.
Now? Fallable. Recognising my own limitations. And thus creating those very limitations that were erstwhile naught but phantom.
Ignorance is bliss. I hope to regain some ignorance soon. Experience is overrated.
“Jardins Sous La Pluie.” How you piss me off. And yet reawaken certain longings and certain emotions within me. I was that good, therefore I am that good. If I fall short of a goal, it is not because I can’t, but because I won’t.
And I suppose I needed a froufy French romantic impressionist fag composer to remind me of this?
God damned Frogs.
Visit the Marquis’ Crush o’ the Week. I miss you, baby.
“DJ, SAVE my life!” Wanna feel like a Marquis? Download the music he’s listening to. But do it quickly. This mp3 will be erased at the next diary entry because we’re stealing bandwidth, here. (If you missed one in the past, email me — we’ll work something out.) TODAY: Poorly recorded, but adequately played by yours truly — Debussy’s, “Jardins Sous La Pluie” (3.1 MB).
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