On the
quest to improve my knowledge of recent music (well, of recent classical
music – I’ve given up on the popular front), I borrowed another Arvo Part
CD, with pieces I didn’t know, and Hans Werner Henze’s Requiem.
The Part is
wonderful. The music is minimalist in terms of its make up, but not minimalist
at all in terms of its emotional meaning and impact. I’m not a musicologist, so
I don’t know how to explain it any better. But the Henze had me well and truly
defeated. Apparently he’s an atheist, so it’s a non religious requiem. He uses
the traditional “movements” of the requiem mass, Dies Irae, Lacrimosa, Lux
Eterna, etc, as titles, but there are no words and the piece is about life,
death and grief as part of human experience. So the CD blurb says, anyway. I have to say, to my ears it never got going
at all. It sounded as though the orchestra was tuning up the whole time. I played a little of the CD for second son and son
in law, and I am sorry to say we all got the giggles. Haken Hardenberger plays
in some movements (not in Tuba Mirum, for reasons best known to Henze). But
what’s the point of having a trumpet virtuoso playing, if all he gets to do is
make parping noises?
On the
theatre front, we’ve been to see One Man, Two Governors, which was a wonderful
end of January tonic. We laughed and laughed. And then I went to see an Alan
Ayckbourn, Joking Apart, which was quite depressing. The story hinged on a
golden couple, for whom everything seemed to go perfectly, and the increasing
jealousy and bitterness of their “friends”. But nobody has a perfectly
successful and happy life. Everybody, unless they are a complete psychopath,
has disasters and regrets and sources of sadness. Plenty of people put a on a
brave face, and sometimes rather stupid or egocentric people take it at face
value, and yes, they can get jealous. It would have been better, in my opinion,
if we had been allowed to see that the golden couple did not have the perfect
life that the others so envied. That would have been more truthful. It made me
think of my godmother. If anyone got overly pleased with themselves, or showed
off too much, or if you got jealous of anyone else’s good fortune, she would
always say, philosophically, “Everyone
has their Gethsemane.” Mind you, it took
me a long time to understand what she meant, and even longer to understand its
truth!
And we had
a walk, in Leicestershire, a part I didn’t know at all, Burrough’s Hill iron
age hill fort, which is a terrific place – very impressive ramparts, a huge
enclosure, and quiet empty countryside. The views were super, but the wind made
my ears ache. And there were snowdrops and lambs! Some of the lambs weren’t
even that young, they were quite big and sturdy. It was so cold and icy I couldn’t help
thinking that the ewes must have got a bit confused. One ewe had very young twin black lambs in
Persian lamb coats.
It’s now
comfortably into February. January is never a good month for me. The
rheumatologist is pleased with my husband’s blood tests, the flower shops have
daffodils, oldest grandson has to make a Roman shield, as have his classmates,
and they are going to form a testudo, (I wish I could see that!) and spring is
on the horizon.
