Tag: singing

How can I keep from singing!

~ Linda Wright ~ 4 Comments
The piano came crashing down onto the cement floor of the basement. One of the movers had let go of the rope when the piano was halfway between the hatchway and the cellar. Nonetheless the piano survived. The movers picked it up and set it against a concrete wall where it sat comfortably for many years.
 
The piano had belonged to my grandmother; the grandmother I never met. She died when my father was still a young boy and he remembered how she used to sit at the piano and play in the evening. Deep within the belly of that piano, I believed, was the soul of my grandmother, gentle, compassionate and harmonious.
 
Mellow and rich sounds responded to the touch of my fingers and I spun the round piano bench until it was the right height for my eight-year-old legs, stretching to reach the keys. I ached to learn how to make music on it.
 
When my father played the piano, he only used the black keys between the whole notes. It was fun to watch like a magic trick and it amused my friends, but I knew it wasn’t the way one was supposed to play a piano.
 
Piano lessons were expensive and my mother threatened me that if I did not practice faithfully the lessons would end. I played the scales over and over again, learning to read the notes on the printed book propped up and resting on the tilted music stand. Plunk, plunk, plunk, I hit note after note; my fingers held in the stiff posture, parallel to the key board and flexing only at the knuckle. It was not joyful, or rewarding, and it seemed to have little to do with making music.
 
I was ashamed that the four-year old girl, who lived next door, could pick out any tune she had heard with accuracy, using impeccable chords and rhythms. Day after day she proved that my problem was my own, not a flaw in the piano.
 
It was harsh to compare my piano ability to another’s, and it eroded my self-confidence. Eventually it led me to give up on the piano lessons. I thought of myself as unmusical. I carried this image into adulthood. At church when I could hear my voice bleat a missed note, I sang with less and less confidence.
 
So, a few months ago when a friend told me that she was taking singing lessons, I thought I might give myself another chance. If my grandmother’s piano could survive a plunge I mused, perhaps I can too. I’ve only had two lessons so far, and I am expanding my range, both in my voice and in my spirit. 

Lift Every Voice and Sing!

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

This morning I could hear a voice outside my window. At first, I thought it was one of our young neighbors singing and happily unaware that the tune was drifting on the wind to my ears. Then, the voice became louder and more powerful. I realized that it was not a child, but an adult singing. How rare, I thought to hear a solitary and spontaneous song coming in my window. The voice came from a woman who was gardening. When I looked out the window, I could see that she was listening to tunes with a headset, unaware of the musical energy that she was creating for others to hear. Absorbed in the music as she dug into and pounded the earth, she seemed as if propelled by it. She was rejoicing in the moment and unaware of any outer or inner censor that might have told her to hush.

In my life, I have met two people who told me that they actually thought in music. One of these was a woman who often whistled or hummed songs aloud. In this way, clever listeners could actually read her mind by listening to what tunes came from her lips.

Most of the time the thoughts that drift through my head are in the form of words. Yet, often in the morning as I awaken it is with a song in my head. Music is often in harmony with my mood rather than my thoughts. When my mother was in the last weeks of her life, I heard music in my head that I had not heard for many years. The tunes were the lullabies that she had sung to me as a child and the music that had given me spiritual solace in times of pain.

When I was undergoing a strenuous medical regime a few years ago, I asked a friend to mail me a CD of healing songs. She had intended to use her own voice, yet she invited a child who was visiting her that day to participate. My friend’s songs were lovely and soft. The little girl spontaneously composed several tracks and these were tender even mournful at times. The refrain of the child’s song was, “Pretty blue sky, why are you blue?” The child, who was just reaching an age where she was becoming self-conscious, began to laugh with a mix of embarrassment and joy at her singing. The laughter was a clear note in the chords of the blues she sang.

My cousin B tells me that she believes the blues have the most meaning for her. One of her photos is inserted with this post. When I look at it, I can almost hear the music and it lifts my spirit.