“In music, the present is a perpetual genesis. The ‘now’ is always bound up with the start and the end,” said Sergiu Celibidache.
We could spend hours exploring the ramifications of such a statement. We could talk about where the start and the end is of symphony with four movements or a mass with seven sections or more. What about The Ring Cycle with its 17 hours of music stretched out over at least four nights?
How does the now relate? Is it the start and end of the entire symphony or the start and end of the current movement? Is the start of the current theme within the movement? Is it the start and end of the current measure of music?
Different disciplines within music could take up different positions.
An opera singer might say, “the ‘now’ relates to the start and end of this high B flat I’m currently making love to your ears with.”
A violinist might say, “the ‘now’ relates to the start and end of this entire concert in which I’m playing most of the notes but getting paid the same as the timpanist.”
A trombonist might say, “the ‘now’ relates to next week because this a Mozart symphony and I’m not in it.”
If we were to get into such a discussion we would all be running up and down the same side of the river. We would all be “on the same side” even though we don’t agree. Sergiu Celibidache is on the other side of the river and he has a boat. We, on the near side of the river here, are so busy and frantic — running into each other and blaming each other for the collision — that we never get our feet wet.
The question of “when does the music start and when does it end” is a question for the nuts and bolts of the physical world. There is no definitive answer but that does not mean that Celibidache's concept it is untrue.
Celibidache is trying to exceed the physical world. He is trying to get us to cross the river. Remember, he has a boat. What does the boat represent?
Meditation.
This is going to sound impossibly arrogant but I will say it anyway. There is only one way to understand music at this level.
Meditation during a concert? No. Meditation everyday.
How so?
Meditation slows the brain down. It is similar to slowing down the frames of a movie. Slow a movie down enough and we start to see that it is a series of still photographs with spaces of darkness between them.
Meditation slows down the movie of thoughts in our heads. Given enough practice, anyone — anyone — will start to see the dark spaces between the thoughts. The space between the thoughts is where insight and discovery exist.
If we can take this ability into the concert hall or the practice room or the studio then we begin to perceive the space between the notes. Now we’re in the boat headed toward the other side of the river. Now we can begin to experience the transcendence which Celibidache tried to infuse into each and every concert.
“In music, the present is a perpetual genesis. The ‘now’ is always bound up with the start and the end,” said Sergiu Celibidache.
We could spend hours exploring the ramifications of such a statement. We could talk about where the start and the end is of symphony with four movements or a mass with seven sections or more. What about The Ring Cycle with its 17 hours of music stretched out over at least four nights?
How does the now relate? Is it the start and end of the entire symphony or the start and end of the current movement? Is the start of the current theme within the movement? Is it the start and end of the current measure of music?
Different disciplines within music could take up different positions.
An opera singer might say, “the ‘now’ relates to the start and end of this high B flat I’m currently making love to your ears with.”
A violinist might say, “the ‘now’ relates to the start and end of this entire concert in which I’m playing most of the notes but getting paid the same as the timpanist.”
A trombonist might say, “the ‘now’ relates to next week because this a Mozart symphony and I’m not in it.”
If we were to get into such a discussion we would all be running up and down the same side of the river. We would all be “on the same side” even though we don’t agree. Sergiu Celibidache is on the other side of the river and he has a boat. We, on the near side of the river here, are so busy and frantic — running into each other and blaming each other for the collision — that we never get our feet wet.
The question of “when does the music start and when does it end” is a question for the nuts and bolts of the physical world. There is no definitive answer but that does not mean that Celibidache's concept it is untrue.
Celibidache is trying to exceed the physical world. He is trying to get us to cross the river. Remember, he has a boat. What does the boat represent?
Meditation.
This is going to sound impossibly arrogant but I will say it anyway. There is only one way to understand music at this level.
Meditation during a concert? No. Meditation everyday.
How so?
Meditation slows the brain down. It is similar to slowing down the frames of a movie. Slow a movie down enough and we start to see that it is a series of still photographs with spaces of darkness between them.
Meditation slows down the movie of thoughts in our heads. Given enough practice, anyone — anyone — will start to see the dark spaces between the thoughts. The space between the thoughts is where insight and discovery exist.
If we can take this ability into the concert hall or the practice room or the studio then we begin to perceive the space between the notes. Now we’re in the boat headed toward the other side of the river. Now we can begin to experience the transcendence which Celibidache tried to infuse into each and every concert.
Comments