Someone turned on a recording of Respighi's "Pines of Rome" last night.
My head popped up from what I was doing and craned to hear the melody
that I haven't heard in probably 15 years - and I was caught up in the
movement of it - back to a time in my teenage years when I was in a
dance performance of "The Prodigal Son" and that was the opening piece.
Amazing how a piece of music can do that - recall all the senses of a
time - as if it actually lives somewhere in your body waiting to be
woken up. I think about what it must be like at this 25th anniversary
for those who have been in the choir all this time. Each piece houses a
set of memories and emotions, and just the opening notes can transport
us back, like a musical time machine. And the amazing thing is, if we
are generous with our experience, anyone hearing can come too. We can
see the faithful Russian people in worship houses destroyed and rebuilt,
hear the sounds of Herbert Howells
ringing through an English cathedral, and feel the hope of faithful
people in Albania having endured such suffering. What an incredible
gift music is, and what a journey.
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