This is an inspired reflection, Jeff. The use of Borodin's stunning piece as the common thread in your text was such a brilliant touch. We've all had these moments, in which we seem unexpectedly and unequivocally transformed by the power of music and other arts. This section, in particular, was striking to me: "I had no idea at the time what this music was or where it was from. But its beauty seemed like a new country being staked out in my heart.", which instantly reminded me of "We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we’ve entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we’ve hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men", and of how experience can be so bound to sound, and of how everyone's innately equipped to be moved, their sense of 'self' changed -even if only momentarily- by beauty. Yeah, strange that I thought of "The English Patient". I think it's linked to the metaphor of the body transfigured by sensible experience. Well, that's not just a metaphor... Anyway, wonderful, Jeff!
Thank you so much for that rich reflection, Viktor! I didn’t enjoy the film of The English Patient, but you make me think I'd enjoy the original novel. I'm grateful to you for sharing that quote.
Beautiful! A reminder of those blessed moments when we turn a corner to a different future by chance. What lovely music. I knew the tune but not its origin
Thank you. A Wonderful first visit for me Jeffrey I just joined you two days ago, I live in East Devon and am transported by Borodin in particular Steppes of Central Asia. His depth of humanity, both romantic and scientific is immeasurable.
I look forward to joining you (whilst trying to understand how Substack and sidebars operate!)
FYI I live over the hill from Venn Ottery, with St Gregory church with its 1,000 year old tower and where Rock of Ages was written by incumbent Toplady.
Thank you Gill, and welcome! I hope you will enjoy Substack. You might want to check out the Substack of June Girvin, who lives in East Devon. I grew up in mid-Devon, but lived for a year in Payhembury, a village the other side of Ottery St Mary from you.
What great connections to draw, and the piece is quite beautiful - now we get a sense of where all the seeds were planted in your young imagination, Jeffrey, and look at you now. :)
Thank you, Troy! I'm not actually that sure where I am now, but I'm gaining better insights into how I got here :) There's more memoir to come in the next few weeks…
I had a similar experience to you in terms of music. It just wasn’t on my radar, in my home, or anywhere else for quite a while. And then, my introduction came in the form of skateboard videos and the accompanying music they played. It’s a funny thing, really, the things that pull us in.
Yes, definitely. Being open is key. I actually find peoples introductions to things, that formative moment, very intriguing. What clicked? Why then? For some reason these things fascinate me :)
So often I read your memoire essays and find a memory tinkling from my own rural life Jeffrey, this one especially - though I came from a family that loved music, jazz and blues mostly, nobody played an instrument and we were not encouraged to do so either; I had little interest until I heard, in a prefabricated building not unlike those you describe, the school band practicing. It was a solo clarinet playing, I later found out, Rachmaninoff: Symphony No. 2. It haunted me for weeks until eventually I asked to join. to my utter dismay there were no clarinets (provided by the school) left and I was handed a French Horn instead... I cried and that was the end of that!
Hi, Susie, thank you for sharing that lovely but sad story of your own. What a disappointment to go through after you'd made up your mind to apply for the band. And it makes me wonder how many of us have stood outside prefab music huts entranced by the sounds coming from inside.
Thank you for your kind words and for sharing, too!
How lovely. In remembering your own transportation you have transported the reader too. And thank you for expanding on Borodin’s talents. Where are such intellectual giants today?
Just listened to the Borodin piece you described played by a large orchestra of teenagers in a formal concert setting. They sounded like the New York Philharmonic with such a confident professional sound. It emphasizes the beauty of what you heard in Devon.
Awesome post. One is totally dependent on the quality of teachers one has along the way, who purposely or inadvertently send us to places or states of mind we never knew existed.
I always enjoy your essays, Jeffrey. The analogue world seems more than lifetimes away, so the remembering feels even more significant than it did, say, even 10 years ago. I wrote a chapter on the influence of music in my life, so it's great to see how it has shaped others, too. [Listening to "Polovtsian Dances" now]
I grew up listening to classical music. My father was raised in an isolated rural community and only had a high school education, but he instinctively set out to learn about the cultural treasures of the world. It was a family friend, an elderly English immigrant and classic music enthusiast, who taught my father, and through my father, my siblings and I, to love classical music. In the era of mix-tapes, my father stayed up late to record live orchestral performances, while during the day we listened to a classical music station. Borodin's music was an ever popular selection on the radio. I only need to hear the opening notes to recognize the Polovtsian dances or On the Steppes. I prefer On the Steppes.
By the way, the assorted music of Borodin was made into a 1953 Broadway musical, Kismet, which was as orientalist as Borodin's original Prince Igor. The first Polovtsian dance is used as the melody for Kismet's love song, 'Stranger in Paradise'.
Thank you for sharing that lovely reflection, Holly. BBC Radio 3 would become my classical music teacher from university onwards. As for Stranger in Paradise, I sometimes struggle to get the song out of my head when thinking of Borodin's music.
Thank you, Victoria! It's only through writing about it now that I see this kind of pattern emerging in my life. I guess that's what happens to everyone.
This is an inspired reflection, Jeff. The use of Borodin's stunning piece as the common thread in your text was such a brilliant touch. We've all had these moments, in which we seem unexpectedly and unequivocally transformed by the power of music and other arts. This section, in particular, was striking to me: "I had no idea at the time what this music was or where it was from. But its beauty seemed like a new country being staked out in my heart.", which instantly reminded me of "We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we’ve entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we’ve hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men", and of how experience can be so bound to sound, and of how everyone's innately equipped to be moved, their sense of 'self' changed -even if only momentarily- by beauty. Yeah, strange that I thought of "The English Patient". I think it's linked to the metaphor of the body transfigured by sensible experience. Well, that's not just a metaphor... Anyway, wonderful, Jeff!
Thank you so much for that rich reflection, Viktor! I didn’t enjoy the film of The English Patient, but you make me think I'd enjoy the original novel. I'm grateful to you for sharing that quote.
Unfortunately, that type of experience is limited to private schools now. The Arts in State Education has been savaged.
I guess I was luckier to have been born in those more enlightened days
And sadly, in Aotearoa New Zealand, we are following suit with our unenlightened government of 18 months.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Beautiful! A reminder of those blessed moments when we turn a corner to a different future by chance. What lovely music. I knew the tune but not its origin
Thank you, Elizabeth! Yes, it’s lovely music, isn’t it?
I can well imagine your being transported hearing those voices…
Beautiful, aren't they?
Thank you. A Wonderful first visit for me Jeffrey I just joined you two days ago, I live in East Devon and am transported by Borodin in particular Steppes of Central Asia. His depth of humanity, both romantic and scientific is immeasurable.
I look forward to joining you (whilst trying to understand how Substack and sidebars operate!)
FYI I live over the hill from Venn Ottery, with St Gregory church with its 1,000 year old tower and where Rock of Ages was written by incumbent Toplady.
Best wishes. Gill
Thank you Gill, and welcome! I hope you will enjoy Substack. You might want to check out the Substack of June Girvin, who lives in East Devon. I grew up in mid-Devon, but lived for a year in Payhembury, a village the other side of Ottery St Mary from you.
Good morning. And thank you . I will check out June Girvin.
And look forward to joining you further.
G
“There is no frigate like a book,” said Emily Dickinson. You’ve just shown that the same can be true of music.
Thank you for that lovely quote, Rona.
What great connections to draw, and the piece is quite beautiful - now we get a sense of where all the seeds were planted in your young imagination, Jeffrey, and look at you now. :)
Thank you, Troy! I'm not actually that sure where I am now, but I'm gaining better insights into how I got here :) There's more memoir to come in the next few weeks…
I had a similar experience to you in terms of music. It just wasn’t on my radar, in my home, or anywhere else for quite a while. And then, my introduction came in the form of skateboard videos and the accompanying music they played. It’s a funny thing, really, the things that pull us in.
A great piece, Jeffrey. Very relatable. :)
Interesting to know that something similar happened to you, Michael. I suppose that if we are open to it, that formative moment will come.
Yes, definitely. Being open is key. I actually find peoples introductions to things, that formative moment, very intriguing. What clicked? Why then? For some reason these things fascinate me :)
So often I read your memoire essays and find a memory tinkling from my own rural life Jeffrey, this one especially - though I came from a family that loved music, jazz and blues mostly, nobody played an instrument and we were not encouraged to do so either; I had little interest until I heard, in a prefabricated building not unlike those you describe, the school band practicing. It was a solo clarinet playing, I later found out, Rachmaninoff: Symphony No. 2. It haunted me for weeks until eventually I asked to join. to my utter dismay there were no clarinets (provided by the school) left and I was handed a French Horn instead... I cried and that was the end of that!
I loved every word here - thank you so much!
Hi, Susie, thank you for sharing that lovely but sad story of your own. What a disappointment to go through after you'd made up your mind to apply for the band. And it makes me wonder how many of us have stood outside prefab music huts entranced by the sounds coming from inside.
Thank you for your kind words and for sharing, too!
How lovely. In remembering your own transportation you have transported the reader too. And thank you for expanding on Borodin’s talents. Where are such intellectual giants today?
I guess the world has become even more specialised?
Just listened to the Borodin piece you described played by a large orchestra of teenagers in a formal concert setting. They sounded like the New York Philharmonic with such a confident professional sound. It emphasizes the beauty of what you heard in Devon.
I was amazed to come across that recording, to be honest. Such high quality as you say and they really get to the heart of the piece.
Awesome post. One is totally dependent on the quality of teachers one has along the way, who purposely or inadvertently send us to places or states of mind we never knew existed.
Thank you, Larry. I totally agree with you about the influence of our teachers.
I always enjoy your essays, Jeffrey. The analogue world seems more than lifetimes away, so the remembering feels even more significant than it did, say, even 10 years ago. I wrote a chapter on the influence of music in my life, so it's great to see how it has shaped others, too. [Listening to "Polovtsian Dances" now]
Thank you, Lani. I guess music influences many, if not most, of us in some way. I continue to enjoy listening to new music almost every day.
Me, too! I'm listening to a Borodin playlist now--so, thanks!
I grew up listening to classical music. My father was raised in an isolated rural community and only had a high school education, but he instinctively set out to learn about the cultural treasures of the world. It was a family friend, an elderly English immigrant and classic music enthusiast, who taught my father, and through my father, my siblings and I, to love classical music. In the era of mix-tapes, my father stayed up late to record live orchestral performances, while during the day we listened to a classical music station. Borodin's music was an ever popular selection on the radio. I only need to hear the opening notes to recognize the Polovtsian dances or On the Steppes. I prefer On the Steppes.
By the way, the assorted music of Borodin was made into a 1953 Broadway musical, Kismet, which was as orientalist as Borodin's original Prince Igor. The first Polovtsian dance is used as the melody for Kismet's love song, 'Stranger in Paradise'.
Thank you for sharing that lovely reflection, Holly. BBC Radio 3 would become my classical music teacher from university onwards. As for Stranger in Paradise, I sometimes struggle to get the song out of my head when thinking of Borodin's music.
It’s interesting to see how you began a life of travel too— first vicariously through culture and art. A wonderful portrait of both you and Borodin!
Thank you, Victoria! It's only through writing about it now that I see this kind of pattern emerging in my life. I guess that's what happens to everyone.
I love this essay and your insights and love of the arts.
Thank you so much, Mary! Coming from you, it means a great deal to me.