Day Twenty Five
Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast.
So wrote William Congreve in 1697. He's wrong.
When my breast becomes savage it's because I can't get away from that dratted musick!
stall in St. John’s Market in Bradford.
Instead of having to tolerate musak everywhere I go, I am now stuck at home in blessed, soul-healing silence.
Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast.
So wrote William Congreve in 1697. He's wrong.
When my breast becomes savage it's because I can't get away from that dratted musick!
The
majority of people it seems, love music.
In
shops, airports, malls and cars which now have outside speakers so pedestrians
are forced to listen to the choices of the driver, it’s impossible to avoid.
But
what about people like me to whom those whining, elongated notes are little
better than caterwauling?
Fifty
nine years ago, my parents bought me a second-hand Dansette record player. My
first record, an LP of George Gershwin’s, ‘Rhapsody in Blue, with ‘American in
Paris’ on the B-side.
I
bought this, and later, a pre-loved Dionne Warwick record from a
Those
were the only records I have ever owned, although occasionally I borrowed
Everly Brothers singles from friends.
Swapping
records was the thing in those days, when pocket money was measured in pence.
I
tried hard to like music when all my friends were swooning over Elvis, Cliff
Richard or Tommy Steele (pictured) because like most teens, I wanted to
be accepted by my peers but the truth was, it held very little attraction for
me. Rock and Roll and Jazz I positively hated.
It
was years before I had the maturity and courage to admit I disliked the
horrible sounds called music.
With
very few exceptions, I still do.
I
honestly cannot understand how it can soothe or comfort when the very first
notes seem to make my hackles rise.
And
yet.
If
the music is live, I can sometimes find it enjoyable and used to attend folk
festivals, singing and genuinely enjoy English, Scottish and Irish traditional
bands.
However,
if I heard those same groups on CD, it was totally different. Something
had gone, along with the pleasure.
I
don’t play music; I don’t own CDs; I don’t go to concerts and rarely to the
local shopping mall where not only every individual shop blares out what they
think attracts people to buy, but the mall itself is pumping out the latest,
usually American, tracks.
I
was very grateful when the supermarkets began Click & Collect, enabling me
to choose items online and quickly pick them up later, avoiding the cacophony
from the overhead speakers.
On
many occasions I’ve curtailed my shopping trips simply to get away from the
music.
Perhaps
if they played Pachelbel's peaceful - Canon in D Major......https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlprozGcs80
......I’d
stay and shop longer but I doubt it; even that has limited appeal and I
understand it doesn't help cheese and laundry powder fly off the shelves.
So
no solace in music during the Covid Crisis for me, only gratitude that I
don't live in Japan, where they even have musical roads, albeit for safety reasons - is there NO escape?
Instead of having to tolerate musak everywhere I go, I am now stuck at home in blessed, soul-healing silence.
But
I'm not completely lost to all finer feelings.
In fact, when that Final
Silence comes and I'm laid to rest, there is one song I'd like to play me
out.
It's
Stan Walker's beautiful 'Aotearoa'.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWhAoZZh8fchttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWhAoZZh8fc
Photo courtesy of Aaron Sebastian
And
a link to the English words of Stan's song:
