I left work around 5.45 thinking I would catch the end of
the rather lovely spring day by walking through The Meadows, and there might be
a sunset. Had a lovely walk, reached the
venue, Summerhall, then went past it to get money from the cash machine on the
next street. On my way back to
Summerhall, walking down Hope Park Terrace ( I think it’s called) I heard
someone call my name - “Jennifer”. Not an urgent call, not demanding attention,
more just an observational call, soft and melodic, to say that they had seen
me. I looked around, but could see
no-one. I assumed it was someone calling
to another Jennifer, but then, for some reason, I started to wonder if it was
just a voice in my head – dream-like. I
got to Summerhall and bought my ticket then repaired to the bar to drink a
glass of wine. I was on my own for the
whole of this glass of wine, so indulged myself by thinking again about the
voice in my head thing, and whose voices might be there. I reckoned that family voices would be the
most likely ones. In particular, my
parents, both are now dead, but both of whom I often remember/imagine/meet in
dreams. So, I started to wonder if I
still could remember my mother’s voice. She has been dead nearly 20 years, and
I think I can, but it was hard to recollect it in my head.
Luckily, then, perhaps, some people I knew appeared in the
bar, not any of the people I was expecting to meet, but lovely to see them all
the same. I had another drink, with
them, then we went to the concert. I was
pleasantly surprised to meet two very good friends, in the audience, people I
have been close friends with for so long I am going to call them Fred and Wilma. They chatted a while then said that they had
seen me earlier and that one of their sons, Pebble, had called out to me from
the car!! Mystery solved. I am not imagining things, nor am I
remembering voices!
Now the concert, was a treat. I didn’t quite work it out, even having
talked to Fred and Wilma, about young Pebble, but it turned out that he, and
his brother Cobble, were both part of this show, as members of a youth
orchestra – gathered together at the last minute to appear, due to sickness of
one of the original cast. It was really splendid to see them playing, so
confidently and tunefully and smiling all the while.
Then, the “real” scripted show began. Very moody
from the start – atmospheric, much staccato plucking of strings, evoking
bird calls, and weather and stormy uneasiness.
Hugely enjoyable, if not melodic!!
I was grateful for having grown up with Peter Maxwell Davis (as it were)
a composer who uses similar, often discordant noises to conjure up moods and thereby
enhance his works. Then, the voices were
brought in – quietly, and Gaelic, so the meaning was lost to me. Only the melody of the human voices could
reach me, none of the meaning. So, the
music had no melody, but lots of meaning, and the voices had no meaning but lots
of melody. I have no idea if this was
the intended effect, but I loved it.
Some Gaelic poetry followed, partially translated into English, some
funny stories, in poetic form, all very enjoyable, then back to the voices and
music. This time, the music followed the melody of the voices, anchoring them; and the meaning of their words, at least for
me, started to fade gently into the background. This was soothing, and calming, for me, the
angry bird calls and the nervy wind flurries were still and the music could
provide a landscape to support the human
voices, providing the mountainous backdrop, accentuating the hills and the
valleys of the speech pattern. Grounding
and centring, bringing us home again to the meaning of the voices, making us
listen to what they were saying, as well as how they were saying it.
The whole thing was glorious, really enjoyable. I want to do it again tomorrow night, to
check whether my interpretation is “right”.
I am glad that got the chance to reflect on a remembered / imagined
voice of my own, before the show; and that I met people that I could, very
briefly, discuss St Kilda with, before the show as well. My imagination and memory were very well
primed for this concert. If I could see
it again tomorrow I would know whether that influenced my enjoyment of it or
not. But, my suspicion is that the music, and the poetry, and the clever use of
lighting, and the general talents displayed that evening, made it so great, and
my remembered imaginings played little part.
Then, a lovely chat with a friend and erstwhile colleague
from many years ago, with whom I only really interact on Facebook now. He generously
drove me home and we chatted about film music and its ability to inspire,
enliven, upset and depress the audience.
Great evening, with lots to consider.
Great evening, with lots to consider.
