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Sep. 8th, 2010
Day 29. A song from your childhood
Sep. 8th, 2010 11:49 pmRachmaninov - Adagio from Symphony No. 2 in E minor
I'm temporarily skipping Day 28 (A song that makes you feel guilty). The Rachmaninov piece is continued on a second YouTube. This is a good recording, but I am used to the old Philadelphia/Ormandy recording.
My dad used to manage an amphitheater in a State Park. I have many wonderful memories of the summer nights I spent there as a kid. The theater was at the base of a canyon wall and had magnificent acoustics. I loved to wander around the place by myself a couple of hours before the theater opened. It was a time filled with quiet energy - the time when the actors were putting on their makeup, when stage technicians were moving scenery into place, and before the audience was seated.
The sound technician, John Brantley, who had been a horn player (and later became a physician), had really good taste. In this quiet time he would often play orchestral music on the theater's sound system (which was also first rate). Without a doubt, my favorite thing he played was this movement from Rachmaninov. It filled the canyon with such beauty. When I was eleven or twelve years old, I thought that the long, winding clarinet solo at the beginning of the movement was really the most beautiful music I had ever heard. I haven't listened to it in years - and I'm surprised how it still floods me with memory and emotion.
My little brother, Miles, died in 1996 from AIDS. My parents followed him in the next decade. I would give anything in the world to turn a corner and suddenly see them.
I'm temporarily skipping Day 28 (A song that makes you feel guilty). The Rachmaninov piece is continued on a second YouTube. This is a good recording, but I am used to the old Philadelphia/Ormandy recording.
My dad used to manage an amphitheater in a State Park. I have many wonderful memories of the summer nights I spent there as a kid. The theater was at the base of a canyon wall and had magnificent acoustics. I loved to wander around the place by myself a couple of hours before the theater opened. It was a time filled with quiet energy - the time when the actors were putting on their makeup, when stage technicians were moving scenery into place, and before the audience was seated.
The sound technician, John Brantley, who had been a horn player (and later became a physician), had really good taste. In this quiet time he would often play orchestral music on the theater's sound system (which was also first rate). Without a doubt, my favorite thing he played was this movement from Rachmaninov. It filled the canyon with such beauty. When I was eleven or twelve years old, I thought that the long, winding clarinet solo at the beginning of the movement was really the most beautiful music I had ever heard. I haven't listened to it in years - and I'm surprised how it still floods me with memory and emotion.
My little brother, Miles, died in 1996 from AIDS. My parents followed him in the next decade. I would give anything in the world to turn a corner and suddenly see them.