First lessons in silence
I’m writing these blogs about music to provide momentary diversion from the sad lunacy that has gripped the corporate/government /media complex. If I blog about Jump Jim Crow those readers of nearby bandwidth may recognize a metaphor for beautiful and honorable statues.
I still own a teacher scrawled upon Schirmer edition entitled “First Lessons in Bach.” Recently I lightheartedly referred to my initial piano teacher as “vivid”; she was in truth an acquired taste. I’m only six, so her age, of course, was of impossible estimation. She was a rehearsal pianist for the Cleveland Orchestra; imagine that.
I spent the day of our first lesson digging in dirt, slipping accidently into ponds, running the bases under a hot afternoon sun, and testing out some worms on the way home. I’m gloriously aromatic. In counterpoint she wore a huge fur coat with scarf, babushka, and dress saturated in perfumes and beads. My mother brings a pot of that poison smelling drink called “coffee” and lays an ashtray next to the piano; the bars of my prison are constructed of stinks. She sits too close.
But I learned to love those lessons. (I later discovered they were of an unusual quality.) She started me with rhythm; keeping a steady beat first on the desk and then in my head. Satisfied with my ability, she said “Now, before you begin to play you must take a moment of silence and hear a full measure in your head. Then you may begin.”
And she held me to it for years. It was the most ideal gift of good habit a teacher could possibly impart.
Silence is at the wellspring of music. It is also the canvass of music. You hear it at church every Sunday; the few noiseless seconds when everybody knows the hymn will now call us to order. You can hear it at Hill Auditorium on a good Saturday night. Someday I will blog about the great silences I have heard.
Quiet makes you stop and think. We grow contemplative, shielded and detached from a world of incessant noise; a constant din that seems to disconnect many people from organized thinking. A thoughtless and shallow slice of our population grabs any type of digital media spreader and eternally blasts away. Their soulless clamor, based upon primitive terrace dynamics, becomes a meaningless and disagreeable distortion.
It bears no relation to an audible example of goodwill and generosity.
People need a measure of silence in order to identify, gather, and collate their most noble thoughts.
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Artisans and skilled craftsmen first create internally. Think of the man who contemplates silently upon a piece of wood and then manufactures something admirable.
He creates an adjunct form of communication.
He creates music.
Michael James has been a professional guitarist and Public School music educator for over forty years
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