One of my favourite features of the Italian language is the fact that the verb sapere can be used to mean both 'to know' and to 'taste.'
I've been foraying on and off into jazz ever since a visit to the Cotswolds earlier this year, where the old man who ran the souvenir shop I visited hummed particularly sonorously along to jazz from over the speakers. I finally got round to sitting down and appreciating it properly last week, starting off with Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come and Coltrane's A Love Supreme. Both blew me away, though I'd heard the Coltrane briefly before. The depth and freedom of expression was incredible. I began binging out. Mingus Ah Me became a favourite. I grew very fond of early jazz, too- the Andrews Sisters being especially cheery- but slower, more abstract jazz is the more intriguing. Still got loads to discover, though, so looking forward to more binging over the months and years to come.
Relatedly, I heard parts of Ravel's Daphne and Chloe for the first time earlier this week, and was intrigued; I knew Ravel's piano works, and his excellent string quartet, but not much of his orchestral works. Having really appreciated Daphne and Chloe, I stuck on a Ravel playlist on Spotify, and listened contentedly for a while before something hit which seemed to freeze time.
I'd heard the Piano Concerto in G major before, but had previously disliked the tone of the first movement, which I had found hysterical and screechy, so had never bothered to listen through to the second movement. It shattered me. Zimerman and Boulez performed this heartbreaking work with such tenderness and nostalgia it quite ripped me apart.
After discovering the latter piece and jazz, I began delving a bit deeper into Impressionism, which I'd never taken to before. I couldn't believe it had never before appealed to me. It felt like Disney on steroids- dazzling, magical, luxuriant. I hadn't had this feeling since stumbling across the Introit and Kyrie to Fauré's Requiem.
Talking of Disney, I put Une barque sur l'océan over the lanterns scene from Tangled. I'm rather proud of the overall aesthetic. For some reason it calls to mind Rubinstein's injunction to live life 'from miracle to miracle.'
Oh, and a belated happy birthday (twas on Sunday) to Glenn Gould. I tried briefly to pick a single Bach interpretation of his to post as a commemorative gesture, but gave up faster than I had with learning the E minor partita. I will, however, leave you with my favourite Gould quote, which, like the Rubinstein, complements the above video very well: 'The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline but is, rather, the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.'
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