I've got Brahm's 4th on repeat. The CD is getting grooves from overplay, I swear. The moment I heard it being played on our local classical radio station, I ordered it online, downloaded it and then ordered hard copies for my brothers. It put me instantly in another place and time, and even someone else's time.
I didn't know what it was, really. I heard the opening strains and thought, "That's the music - that's what it is...". Bob listened to it more than any other music, ensconced in his favorite chair. I even remember it from as far back as the house in North Hollywood on La Maida St. 916 La Maida St. I looked it up on Google Earth once. They'd ruined it with hedges our front - you could barely see the leaded glass windows.
In that living room, not nearly as big as the one on Romero Canyon in Montecito, Bob would sit in a white leather easy chair in front of the fireplace. The stereo would be pretty loud, because of his hearing problems. You have to realize we are talking about a stereo, an LP on a turntable with a needle vibrating in the grooves, a flat disc of black vinyl going around and around a slender metal spindle. Setting the needle down without scratching or skipping was an artform learned by the time I was 10. There was no remote, no digital laser, no playing through from the beginning to the end - you had to actually get up out of your chair and turn the damned thing over. America was more fit then.
The 4th is called "Le Tragique". It is famous for its opening measures that are quite different than any symphony before its time. Again, you have to realize that when it was performed, there were very few if any recordings - no one heard it before they went to see it live. There was no instant rewind or repeat. It was an in-the-moment experience. The symphony is in Em, very emotional and sad right from the start. It instantly brings images into your mind, if you are willing. I always see the same series: Bob in his chair, thinking, eyes closed, pipe smoke wafting; then a sweeping vista of the lettuce fields in Salinas, the setting sun behind the purple coast range, golden light between the dark, wet rows; a young man sitting in the back of a '32 Ford truck, gazing in wonder, already making films in his head.
The music, the images never fail to bring tears to my eyes, tears that can be quite inconvenient when I am driving or trying to talk on my cell phone. But, I play it non-stop anyway. I relish the experience, I crave it. I hear the horns in my head, the strings as I shower, and sometimes, while driving, lift my right hand, conducting an unseen orchestra.
This must be something like what happened in Bob's mind, I think, the cabbage picker from Racine, making films in his head.
I didn't know what it was, really. I heard the opening strains and thought, "That's the music - that's what it is...". Bob listened to it more than any other music, ensconced in his favorite chair. I even remember it from as far back as the house in North Hollywood on La Maida St. 916 La Maida St. I looked it up on Google Earth once. They'd ruined it with hedges our front - you could barely see the leaded glass windows.
In that living room, not nearly as big as the one on Romero Canyon in Montecito, Bob would sit in a white leather easy chair in front of the fireplace. The stereo would be pretty loud, because of his hearing problems. You have to realize we are talking about a stereo, an LP on a turntable with a needle vibrating in the grooves, a flat disc of black vinyl going around and around a slender metal spindle. Setting the needle down without scratching or skipping was an artform learned by the time I was 10. There was no remote, no digital laser, no playing through from the beginning to the end - you had to actually get up out of your chair and turn the damned thing over. America was more fit then.
The 4th is called "Le Tragique". It is famous for its opening measures that are quite different than any symphony before its time. Again, you have to realize that when it was performed, there were very few if any recordings - no one heard it before they went to see it live. There was no instant rewind or repeat. It was an in-the-moment experience. The symphony is in Em, very emotional and sad right from the start. It instantly brings images into your mind, if you are willing. I always see the same series: Bob in his chair, thinking, eyes closed, pipe smoke wafting; then a sweeping vista of the lettuce fields in Salinas, the setting sun behind the purple coast range, golden light between the dark, wet rows; a young man sitting in the back of a '32 Ford truck, gazing in wonder, already making films in his head.
The music, the images never fail to bring tears to my eyes, tears that can be quite inconvenient when I am driving or trying to talk on my cell phone. But, I play it non-stop anyway. I relish the experience, I crave it. I hear the horns in my head, the strings as I shower, and sometimes, while driving, lift my right hand, conducting an unseen orchestra.
This must be something like what happened in Bob's mind, I think, the cabbage picker from Racine, making films in his head.
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