Throwback Thursday: “Four Last Songs: Beim Schlafengehen,” Richard Strauss

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This piece.  This.  Piece.  This piece is a prime example of how an organized collection of sounds can produce profound feelings on both ends of the emotional spectrum at the same time.  For me, it has always elicited great peace and happiness, and also great sadness – even without knowing the words.  The construction of the song is such that the first half, which begins in a minor key, primes the listener that something is afoot – not all is entirely correct for the singer (who in this recording is the incomparable Dame Kiri Te Kanawa).  The way the melody oscillates back and forth between major and minor suggests turbulence, and a strong sense of longing for something that might never be attained.  The singer is clearly unsettled.  Te Kanawa shows us how tired she is of her lot by her slurring the melody in the first few words of the phrase – appropriate, given the meaning of the words she is singing.

The second half of the song begins at 1:39.  A solo violin leads the listener into the singer’s own daydream of whatever is so strongly hoped for.  When Te Kanawa comes back in at 2:43, the piece unhesitatingly builds to an ecstatic conclusion, at the end of which I am entirely spent.  This is a piece I can only listen to once in a while since it has a power to move me bodily from emotion to emotion, as one would move a doll between rooms in a doll house.  But what a glorious ride.

Words below.

Nun der Tag mich müd gemacht,
soll mein sehnliches Verlangen
freundlich die gestirnte Nacht
wie ein müdes Kind empfangen.  Hände, laßt von allem Tun
Stirn, vergiß du alles Denken,
Alle meine Sinne nun
wollen sich in Schlummer senken.

Und die Seele unbewacht
will in freien Flügen schweben,
um im Zauberkreis der Nacht
tief und tausendfach zu leben.

Now that I am wearied of the day,
my ardent desire shall happily receive
the starry night
like a sleepy child.  Hands, stop all your work.
Brow, forget all your thinking.
All my senses now
yearn to sink into slumber.

And my unfettered soul
wishes to soar up freely
into night’s magic sphere
to live there deeply and thousandfold.

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.”

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.