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Three Excerpts from Kleinzeit

In memoriam Russel Hoban.

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I started a new book!

ML West, Ancient Greek Music. Check it out, y’all. It’s extremely easy to read. And fun!

oof.

this is essentially irrelevant to the Orpheus-thesis, but I conducted a piece on a concert today. it’s been awhile. was an emotional day; I had scary dreams but was also afraid to wake up and get out of bed. had a less-than-great rehearsal (with pros whom I’ve known since I was five). the soloist is a very sweet person, and I wanted to do a good job for her sake, but it was a 9/11 memorial, the concert was about something more than just itself: and, instead of calming me down, that thought only made me more nervous that I’d stick out as under-qualified. concert ultimately was good; about as good as it could’ve been on one rehearsal.

one thing that I always forget about conducting is how much it drains you. sure, it’s invigorating and thrilling in the moment of performance - but part of the excitement is that it is transitory, and once it’s over, you feel so wiped out. to concentrate so intensely for such a short period of time…it’s a real workout. that is, I think, actually kind of relevant to Orpheus.

ahh, I’m sorry. I’m not too coherent tonight. just thought this was an important thing to write down, even badly. I took a bus home tonight, was feeling down, listening to “How to Disappear Completely”. it was almost pitch black; I couldn’t recognize the roads even though I’ve made that trip a million times before. it reminded me of when I was very young - we used to take family vacations, and there was something so enchanting and exciting about driving at night, it didn’t feel like vacation if we didn’t do at least some night-driving. now, it seems terrifying to me, to not be able to know where you are or where you’re going. and then I thought of russell hoban (of course):

That night I went to the road. There was no moon, only the night and the dim road wending into darkness. I stamped on the road, I whispered, “Hermes!” The road moved backward under my feet, faster, faster. The steady rhythm of it stretched its long dream into the darkness and the whispering of the night. Running, running I said to the night “I have no name but the one you give me, no face but the one you see.”

I was, I am, an emptiness. I don’t know what anything is: I don’t know what music is, I don’t know the difference between running and stillness, between dancing and death. The world vibrates like a crystal in the mind; there is a frequency at which terror and ecstasy are the same and any road may be taken.

From The Medusa Frequency, through the mouth of Orpheus. I also think about how often the novel depicts travel, how important movement is. The first time I read it, I read those parts quickly because I thought they were unimportant - now, I find myself dallying through them more and more.

anyway. going to try to do some work now. (wish me luck - what usually happens on nights like these is that I’m too invigorated to fall asleep and too brain-dead to do anything important.) good night.