Their mind woke up to what the carrying out of this new task could entail. It was ideal, part applied practice, part pleasure, part strenuous endeavour. What would be the right piece of music to accompany this? Well, that took a while to establish. They had to overcome a certain nerdy ambition they possessed, that quickly infested their sense of the task at hand. How long the music should be, wildly fluctuated in length. They didn't want to be a pussy, and so thought- lets go for a full twenty minutes. This shifted down in five minute geared increments, then cranked itself upwards again, until another minor genuflecting moment of retreat. Back and forth it went on like a game of hesitant table tennis.
Having provisionally settled on five minutes, the next issue was musical style. In many ways popular music was better at a short musical form. The discipline of three minutes being widely adhered to. Rarely stretching longer though, even five minutes was a bit of an ask, unless you chose a 12 inch remix. Classical, however, was the reverse, a long form of musical encounter, that placed little value on brevity. You had your minute waltzs, but longer, as in five minutes longer, was harder to find outside of the odd Chopin Etude, a Gymnopedie by Eric Satie, or something considered charmingly unfinished. Most frequently it's romantic loquaciousness recognised no horological boundary.
Annoyingly they found the right music hard to find, let alone forgive. When a piece of music, proved to be even a few seconds over or short of the required time. They reminded themselves they weren't in competition with anyone, except, of course, themselves. Boy this was proving hard. It was an experiment after all. If they should ultimately fail, well, no one else need know about it. Yet, why did four minutes eighty four feel so much worse than four minutes ninety? How come everything always has to be so neat and bloody precise, but mostly wasn't?
Setting aside Sunday evening. They lined up the chosen music on the computer, plugged in the headphones, pulled up a favourite armchair, and pondered whether it was ever possible to truly prepare oneself for listening intently, without distraction. They made a cup of tea. Then realised perhaps that was not such a good idea. What if they needed to pee two minutes in? Thoughts about the distended nature of your bladder, once they seeped into your mind, you'd never be able to shut them up. This 'in the moment' deep listening stuff, needed more careful preparation than anyone would have first imagined.
So the phone was unplugged, mobile turned off, all the doors either locked or do not disturb signs attached. Did the room need to be darkened? Lights on or off? Eyes closed of open? Headphones or speakers? The issues provoked these questions, and they kept on coming. The sense that all this prevarication over actually starting the experiment, was simply nervous delay. The perpetual nature of them grew increasingly discomforting, until they struck more base, sabotaging, carnal motivations. Shoes on or off? Sitting up or lying down? Clothed or naked? No, just no to that. You know what you'd do - in time to the music no doubt. Shame on you.
Eventually, fully clothed, out of a burgeoning self exasperation they pressed the start button, and just as the opening chord struck immediately put it on hold. No.That was too hurried. Rewind. Pause, take several minutes to deep and luxuriate in the breath. Still a bit hyper, calm down, breath slower - be gentler. Prepare your entire psycho- physical being. Imagine a pond with ripples becoming stiller and unruffled like a mirror. Yes, that one always works.
And....then...they fell asleep. Oops, nodded off for a bit there. Are you really alert enough? Well slept enough? You can always come back to this later. Go take a brisk invigorating walk. After an hours walk at sunset, and a ten - twenty minute nap, have another go.
This time they sat bolt upright. Touched the button and off they went. Gosh I always love this opening, so magnificent and grand, reminds me of when I walked through those estate woods in Norfolk last autumn, low sun, the extended shadows, and... Hey, are you listening? Nope. Stop the music. Pause. God, you're only giving a bloody running commentary. Not truly listening with the entirety of your whole physical, mental, emotional, spiritual being. You"re writing a review. What's your strategy with this then, oh mighty deep listening guru? Rewind, Start again. Deep, deep sigh. And.......
God, No, I'm just so annoyed with myself now, really really uptight. What to do? Just listen to the god damn music! What's so difficult about that? Cool the anger dude. Deep breaths, let them go, let them go, Let Them Go, from the head down to the feet....and again.
No, No, No, I can't do this right now, I'm so damn wired. A cup of tea. That's back on the agenda. Get up, switch on the tap, fill the kettle, wait till it boils, bag in the teapot, splash of cold water, pour the hot water in, wait till it's brewed, time three full minutes, milk in the cup, then the tea, retire to the sofa, sit and slowly drink it in. Now why can't listening to music be like that, eh? Like switching on a kettle and making a cup of tea.
You know, maybe this is simply not the right time, another day perhaps. What am I trying to prove here, eh? OK, move on then - check your phone - one missed call - nope - they can wait - swipe. I'm chillin for a bit, know what I mean?
Written by Stephen Lumb
February 2024
No comments:
Post a Comment