Salubrious Saturday: “Walking in the Sun,” Fink

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You ever have those moments where you feel like you can look at yourself from a removed vantage point?  I had one of those moments not too long ago.  I was sitting in my office at work, and, all of a sudden and out of absolutely nowhere, I was able to look behind me (in my mind, of course) and see the path I’d walked on to get to where I was in that exact moment – doing what I was doing, wearing what I was wearing, all of it.  It was the strangest and most wonderful feeling.  I could see the places I had made an active decision, the places where an outside force had cleared a few feet of the path ahead, the places where I’d stumbled and made a slight course correction.  There were It made my life today seem both inevitable and accidental at the same time, in that everyone is a product of their own decisions but no one exists in a vacuum.  It was a beautiful moment.

That is what this song reminds me of.

Worldly Wednesday: “The Man in the Desert,” Yoko Kanno

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJ9XQCgLdmc

Something wakes up, stirs, and evolves in this piece.  It starts so simply but builds to a massive and complicated climax before resolving back to the six-note lilt with which it began.  It’s so hopeful throughout.  It feels like running your fingers over an angora blanket.  (Now is probably a good time to mention that your Yankette has mild synesthesia, which is when the senses get a little jumbled and, in this case, sounds have colors and textures.)  The beginning especially sounds like a convergence of Aaron Copland and Steve Reich, both of whom I love.  Yoko Kanno is a modern Japanese composer from Sendai, Japan.

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She is mostly known for her soundtracks to anime films and video games.  This is my favorite piece of hers.  I have been looking everywhere for the words.  Intrepid readers, if any of you can find them, I would really appreciate it.

Sacred Sunday: “Resonemus Hoc Natali,” Anon.

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I am, as you’ve no doubt guessed, a big fan of early music.  I love its simplicity, I love its richness, and, to me, it is very centering.  Whenever things get overwhelming and I need to create an eye in the storm, I put on this piece.  It sounds mysterious, and therefore timeless.  Also, because its melody follows the Dorian mode, it is neither happy nor sad – which is what makes it such a good piece to listen to when you need the universe to just quit it for a second.  (Quick music theory tutorial!  A “mode” is another word for scale, a scale being a succession of eight notes in ascending order of pitch.  What makes the Dorian mode cool is that it includes both minor and major tonalities.  For example, a D scale is in the Dorian mode.)

“Resonemus Hoc Natali” is a very early example of the use of polyphony – polyphony literally meaning “many sounds,” and in more common terms, the use of harmony.  Like many early music pieces, we don’t know who wrote it exactly, but we do know it hails from the old region of France called Aquitaine in the 12th century.

Aquitaine!

Hey!  It’s Aquitaine!

When the words begin to describe the reason behind God taking human form – “that he might bestow aid to the human race, the heavenly assembly is astonished at this” – the rest of the choir falls away, hushed like a gasp, to leave a singer solo to tell the story.  Gets me every time.

The final reason I love early music?  It’s old.  When I listen to this piece, I contemplate the number of men and women over the last nine centuries who have heard it, too, and the joys and sorrows they carried with them as I carry mine.  That comforting connection makes me feel immortal.

Resonemus hoc natali
cantu quodam speciali,
Deus ortu temporali
de secreto virginali
processit hodie,
cessant argumenta perfidie.

Magnum quidem sacramentum,
mundi factor fit sic mentum,
sumens carnis indumentum,
ut conferat adiumentum,
humano generi,
cetus inde mirantur superi.

Post memorem redit risus,
aperitur paradisus,
et in terris Deus visus,
lapis manus ne precisus,
quem vidit Daniel,
quem venturum predixit Gabriel.

Hic est noster angularis,
spes iustorum salutaris,
hic est noster salutaris,
potens celi, terre, maris,
facture condolens,
quam premebat tirannus insolens.

At this birth let us sing out
with some special song,
God comes forth today in temporal birth
from virginal mystery,
let the disputes
of the faithless cease.

Indeed the mighty maker of the world
thus is made the sacrament of the spirit,
taking on the cloak of flesh
that he might bestow aid
to the human race,
the heavenly assembly is astonished at this.

After mourning, laughter returns,
paradise is opened,
and God is seen upon the earth,
the stone uncut by human hand
which Daniel saw,
whose coming Gabriel foretold.

This is our cornerstone,
the healing hope of the upright,
this is our saving power
over the heavens, earth, and sea,
consoling by his act
those whom the insolent tyrant oppressed.

Worldly Wednesday: “Otche Nash,” Nikolai Kedrov

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I learned last night that a friend, fellow international relations scholar, and net benefit to humanity, Alex Petersen, was killed in a Taliban attack at a café in Kabul.  I didn’t know Alex very well.  We met a few times and were connected by our membership in Young Professionals in Foreign Policy and our mutual friends.  I didn’t have to know him well personally to have been awed by him intellectually and professionally.  Alex had devoted his life to the study of international relations in all its forms, and threw himself into it with ravenous abandon.  That the world could lose someone so young, so accomplished, and so focused on the betterment of humanity is beyond heartbreaking.  When I found out about his murder, I heard this piece in my head.  It is a Russian Orthodox version of the Lord’s Prayer.

More about Alex Petersen here, courtesy of Josh Rogin.

Salubrious Saturday: “Mo Ghruagach Dhonn,” Julie Fowlis

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This is such a lovely song.  Julie Fowlis is from the tippity-top of Scotland, a place called North Uist in the outer Hebrides (look for it on Google Images – it’s just gorgeous).  Her music always makes me happy and homesick at the same time, and as it’s cold and windy in D.C. today, it puts me a Scottish frame of mind.  A good day for bundling up and venturing outside with a hot beverage and some good tunes.

Hi ho ro, mo ghruagach dhonn,
S ann ort fhèin a dhfhàs an loinn:
Dhfhàg siud acaid na mo chom,
An gaol cho trom s a ghabh mi ort.

Fhuair mi do litir Dimàirt,
Dhinnseadh dhòmhsa mar a bha:
Gu robh thu a tighinn gun dàil
A-mach air bàta Ghlaschu.

Nuair a leugh mi mar a bha,
Ghabh mi sìos am Brumalà:
Chunnaic mi a tighinn am bàt
S an t-àilleagan, an ainnir, innt.

Nuair a shìn mi mach mo làmh,
Thionndaidh thu le fiamh a ghàir
S labhair thu facal no dhà
Dhfhàg iomadh tràth gun chadal mi.

S ann ort fhèin tha ghruag a fàs –
Cha dubh s cha ruadh is cha bhàn,
Ach mar an t-òr as àille snuadh,
Gu buidhe, dualach, camalagach.

Dhèanainn sgrìobhadh dhut le peannt,
Dhèanainn treabhadh dhut le crann,
Dhèanainn sgiobair dhut air luing,
Air nighean donn nam meall-shùilean.

Meòir is grinn thu air an t-snàth
No cur peannt air pàipear bàn,
Ach ma chaidh thu null thar sàil
DhAstràilia, mo bheannachd leat.

Cha bhi mi tuilleadh fo leòn,
Glacaidh mi tè ùr air spòig –
Solamh bu ghlice bha beò,
Bha aige mòran leannanan

Hi ho ro, my brown-haired lass,
whose beauty becomes more beguiling.
The deep love I have for you
has left me sorely wounded.

Your letter arrived on Tuesday
Telling of what was to be.
It told that your ship would arrive
in Glasgow without delay.

When I read this,
I immediately headed for the Broomielaw.
I saw the ship carrying the jewel,
the maiden, approach.

When I held out my hand
you turned with a slight smile and
uttered a couple of words
which left me sleepless many nights

You have the lovliest hair,
neither black, nor red nor fair,
but the colour of the most beautiful gold,
yellow, braided and curled. 

I would write for you with a pen.
I would cultivate for you with a plough.
I would captain a ship for you,
brown haired lass of the deceiving eyes.

You are skilled at working wool
and at writing on blank paper.
But if you have gone overseas, to Australia,
goodbye to you.

I will no longer be in despair.
Ill grab a new one by the hand.
Solomon, the wisest man who lived,
had many sweethearts.

Salubrious Saturday: “Beggar in the Morning,” The Barr Brothers

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Hi there, Tune-Up fans.  Yankette here.  It was an absolute monster of a week, with long, long days and very little sleep.  So I am doing as little as possible this weekend.  It’s cool and rainy here today so I am spending the day holed up in my apartment playing geeky board games in my PJs.  Then I’m going to a best friend’s house for dinner.  I may or may not be spending the rest of the weekend doing some combination of napping, staring off into space, and reading.  I’m only leaving the house if provoked.  Here is a nice, mellow song to accompany the nice, mellow activities you’ll be getting up to this weekend.  “I think I’ve come a long, long way to sit before you here today.”

Salubrious Saturday: Duet for Two Violins and Orchestra, Steve Reich

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I adore Steve Reich.  Adore him.  He is one of my top ten favorite composers, and has influenced my life enormously.  This blog will feature some of his other work later on.  There are, however, a fair number of people I know who don’t enjoy Steve Reich at all.  (Hi, Mom.  Oh hey there, third ex-boyfriend on the left.)  It’s more than understandable.  There isn’t a discernible melody, for starters, nor an easily explainable rhythm, which leads some to conclude that Reich’s music is pretty pointless.  When I play this piece, however, some of them warm up to the idea.  (Hi again, Mom.  Smell you later, third ex-boyfriend on the left.)  Though it keeps to the general Reich-ian aesthetic of repetitive minimalism, it’s also beautifully – and accessibly – lyrical.  It sounds like Vaughan Williams’s lark when it was still young and went cruising with its best friend, before it grew up, went to Groton and Yale, got its medical degree, and became an elegant, staid, and entirely boring lark that ate a light dinner and retired early with some Tennyson poems.  (Yes, yes, “Better not be at all than not be noble,” good for you.)  This piece makes me feel like I just took in a lungful of fresh air on the first day of spring.  Speaking of lungfuls of air, I am hoping to go for my first long training run today to prepare for the half-marathon I foolishly signed up for, and perhaps this piece will convince me it’s warmer than 20 degrees outside.  Happy Saturday!

P.S.  I took the photo in the video in Kiev, Ukraine.  What a wacky place, Ukraine.  More on that in a later post.

P.P.S.  I am of course in no way maligning Groton or Yale.  As they say, some of my best friends went to Groton and Yale.

Sacred Sunday: “Ne irascaris Domine,” William Byrd

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This piece is my most meaningful musical discovery of 2013.  Here’s how it happened.

Do you remember, back in September and early October, when it felt like everything was going wrong at once?  If you live in D.C., as I do, you probably remember.  Let’s catalogue everything that happened:

– The Navy Yard shooting

– The shooting/car chase around the Capitol

– The man who immolated himself on the National Mall

There were other awful things that happened in D.C. and around the world around that time, as well, and I remember talking about them but don’t remember what they were.  I guess I blocked them out.

Also around this time, my work started to really pick up and I found myself staying later and later at the office.  On late nights at work I like to listen to music to keep me going, and this night, filled as I was with a sort of existential dread, I looked for something soothing.  I’ve listened to William Byrd all my life, so I found a recording of his sacred motets on YouTube, pressed play, and forged ahead.

My ears leaned towards the speakers when “Ne irascaris” started.  It was different than the preceding track, and not just in tempo and melody and all the obvious things, but in tone.  It wasn’t exactly soothing but it wasn’t exactly sad, and it sounded a little resigned but simultaneously still kept some hope alive.  The music caused all the fear, anger, unease, and resentment – towards a whole lot of things – I had felt since the Navy Yard shooting to build in me until, once the music got to 06:10, I completely broke down.

“Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.”

I had to look up the English translation the next morning and was startled yet completely unsurprised to discover what the words that brought me to tears actually meant.  It felt spooky that I had, through total chance, found a piece that so completely resonated with feelings I’d not yet fully dealt with that it sparked a wonderful catharsis.  It’s amazing what music can do.

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Ne irascaris Domine satis,
et ne ultra memineris iniquitatis nostrae.
Ecce respice populus tuus omnes nos.  

Civitas sancti tui facta est deserta.

Sion deserta facta est,
Jerusalem desolata est.

Be not angry, O Lord,
and remember our iniquity no more.
Behold, we are all your people.
Your holy city has become a wilderness.
Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.