What is in Kelvin's Head?

What am I listening to?

22/08/2013
Oh, thank you for asking.

Well, the days of listening to CDs seem to be long over, don’t they? I’ve not ditched all the CDs like Chris Pinnock has, but wonder how long I’ll go on with a cupboard full of little boxes.
- Firstly and most splendidly there’s the Gyndebourne summer online opera festival. Oh yes, you can watch and listen to half a dozen or so glorious Glyndebourne productions. Like all opera should be, they are free at the point of delivery.
- I briefly got sucked into the gay-country-pap of Steve Grand’s All American Boy the other day until I realised it was just like most representations of gay people in America – doomed to end in tears. (Cheyenne Jackson’s Don’t Wanna Know made me laugh, but it is more of the same – all American gay boys don’t get happy endings to their stories much in America).
- Then something I saw somewhere reminded me of Alan Price’s O Lucky Man so I had a good listen to that.
- I also came across Tom Gilfellon’s album In the Middle of the Tune on Spotify – something I’ve not heard since I ditched vinyl – here’s the first track The Banks of Red Roses.
- Whilst I was getting stuff ready for Pride the other week, I needed some music to cheer me on my way so listened to Holly Near and sang along with Singing for our Lives.
- Christy Moore’s Before the Deluge doesn’t get tired, does it?
- Neither does Martin Simpson’s Prodigal Son album.
- And did you know you can hear Frank Weir’s monumental 20th Century Folk Mass on spotify? It is really a big band mass, but there you do.
Spotify tried to get me to listen to Val Doonican the other day. I’m not letting on as to whether I did or not though.
Music

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

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kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

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kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

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Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

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Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

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RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

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Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

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Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

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Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

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