Let me tell you the story of a musical adventure. No literally, it was an adventure with musicals. And since many musicals are whimsical and fairy-tale-like, we shall storybook this story.
Ahem. Once upon a time in a magically crazy-weathered kingdom lived three sisters. Well actually, only two sisters lived there. The other one visited mostly on weekends. Nonetheless, these sisters were well-known throughout the land for their musical talents. They performed classical piano pieces, added beauty to any orchestral arrangement, and surprised all listeners with their stellar vocal talents. While they often shared these talents with the greatest amounts of seriousness, they had an especial procedure for using them when cozied up in their own home on its green hill rolling away in all directions.
One Thursday evening, a brilliant idea pounced upon the sisters before they knew it was to dance them away into a world of musical wonder . . . or, probably more accurately, of musical wrongness. The Wicked music book found itself in the hands of the sisters oldest and youngest, and a strange commotion rent the air as the two began a tragic slaughtering of the beautifully written melody Popular, though the lyrics stayed in tact.
It was monstrous! But it was oh so pleasing in its hilarity! And no mind, despite the grating in each ear, would miss the performance in its entirety.
And then, another idea crept close through the African prairie brush and grabbed hold of all three girls with deathly jaws.
Several musicals were pulled out of a black filing box and the fun commenced. The lyrics of My Fair Lady sung to the memorable phrases of Les Miserables. The Little Mermaid's Les Poisson sung passionately to Tangled's I See the Light. So many combinations of The Phantom of the Opera with all those already mentioned. The girls discovered exactly how long Masquerade was when they attempted three times to match its lyrics up with another musical's music. Finally a suitable pairing was made. With Part of Your World and Part of Your World (Reprised). Yes, it only worked if both songs were sung in succession. Another favorite was Past the Point of No Return lyrics with We are the Daughters of Triton. They also crafted a slightly altered rendition of Fathoms Below with the words of Tangled's Flower Incantation.
Somehow, those invited to hear these unique collaborations in close quarters were not able to grasp the beauty in its fullness. It seemed the performers themselves were the only ones with complete satisfaction. But it was enough to simply please themselves. After all, it was just a silliness they'd never share publicly anyway.
Do you think we were crazy to do this? If so, you would be correct. Although I'm sure there are plenty of Bowman-esque people out there who would immediately do this same thing. The best part of this was the phrase match-ups and the heart-warming melodies boasting about cutting off fishes heads . . . I mean, yes there were some strange meet ups, but it made the adventure fantastic!
From pondering these moments, I have come to a few conclusions about the writing of music in general. First, and most importantly, some lyrics when heard with melodies of opposing emotion sound really freaking creepy and wrong! Or just too silly to ever be used in front of people. The rhymes become forced and childish, the rhythms thrown together. So I guess you could say that any and every song ever written is ridiculous. Any of them can be mocked, which brings me to my second point. Musicians are fantastic mythical beasts! (Credit for that description goes to Rhett and Link.) They bring life to their lyrics through so many varying melodies, and their music overwhelms listeners with its expression of emotion whether the words are there or not.
Short story made shorter: give musicians some credit and support them if you especially like them. And also, think about this. Every new song for them is another risk, exposing themselves for criticism and ridicule. Yeah, I'd say musicians are pretty tough kids.
So go to a concert or go buy a CD or something.
Oh. And they all lived happily ever after.
Awesome_
23 May 2011
04 May 2011
I Don't Sound Like a Ringwraith. Anymore.
(the set-up)
Once upon a time, I left cold and snowy Rexburg at the beginning of April to visit the pleasantly temperate Las Vegas with my jump rope team. Sin City over General Conference weekend, oh the irony.
(the irony)
Oh you want the real irony? I caught a cold.
Actually, half of our dozen got sick. All with something different. Or mostly different. Some with migraines, some with colds, one with an ear infection, and two throwing up for no reason. Yeah, and we still had 2 days, 6 assemblies, and 2 workshops to get through. Let alone the travel time to St. George and Mesquite, and the 8-hour drive home.
Side note: this should tell you how much we freaking love jump rope. Seriously.
(the point)
As Stephanie, I have never lost my voice. I came close at the age of twelve. I tried my hardest to succeed at the age of fourteen. I still failed. Well, fast forward to our Vegas trip.
I lost my voice the second day of being sick. And not just halfway either. No, I'm talking full on Grudge imitation. A Brother Severn sound-alike (for those in the Eastern Idaho area). A squawking, out-of-tune creature you couldn't help chuckling at (in your defense, neither could I). I also could barely hear anyone I tried to have a normally-distanced conversation with.
But still I jumped, I yelled counting for routines–I swear I'm the only one that can yell loudly, so I count everything–I sometimes breathed, and I also taught elementary school kids to jump rope for several hours. It was an amazing feat, even though more often than not I'd have to clear my throat to get anything audible to come out. And I was continuously asking nine-year-olds to repeat themselves.
I tried to sing during the car ride home. I couldn't carry a tune. Simple intervals were slaughtered in excruciating, cruel, unusual ways. Poor music. Now I know how the tone-deaf feel. They are stronger people than I am, being able to live without singing.
My only comfort was thinking, "This won't last long, right? Colds only last about seven days, so I'll be fine soon . . ."
(the twist)
WRONG!
3 weeks! I am in no way even exaggerating! Hacking cough, unable to communicate with the world, telling people to speak up.
For 21 days.
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
1, 814, 400 seconds.
That's an unbelievable time span to not sing in. It was so agonizing! Listening to the beautiful choir in church, and even the congregation. Hearing a favorite song on the radio (the volume twice as high as normal) and banned from the belting of its words. And if the loss of song wasn't heartbreaking enough, I had no recollection of my voice. It seemed these laughable rasps were all I'd ever had. It became a habit to ask if I still sounded sick because, for all I knew, this was the loverly voice I'd developed through my years of living. Of course, when people would answer, I'd yell at them, "What? I can't hear you! You have to talk to me like I'm an old person!" (No insult intended to the elderly here.)
(the speculation)
Something I found interesting was supplied by teammate Nieka. She described a beautiful concept where there's actually a correct manner in which to yell. A procedure to follow so that, no matter the hollering time or distance, the gravel will stay out of your throat. Her suggestion was that I had this ability innately (though it could be taught), which explains my failures earlier in life (not all failures, just the voice-losing ones). So this sporadic, unpredictable cough did something to throw of the natural balance of my voice box.
But who knows how? My family, my teammates, my friends, myself, we are completely mystified. Was it really a cold I had, or was it mono? Possibly the parasitic invasion of an alien compound? Such extreme effects surely cannot be dismissed and discounted. And to simply fade away in a day or two?
It's an outrageous accusation to call this the common cold.
Awesome_
Once upon a time, I left cold and snowy Rexburg at the beginning of April to visit the pleasantly temperate Las Vegas with my jump rope team. Sin City over General Conference weekend, oh the irony.
(the irony)
Oh you want the real irony? I caught a cold.
Actually, half of our dozen got sick. All with something different. Or mostly different. Some with migraines, some with colds, one with an ear infection, and two throwing up for no reason. Yeah, and we still had 2 days, 6 assemblies, and 2 workshops to get through. Let alone the travel time to St. George and Mesquite, and the 8-hour drive home.
Side note: this should tell you how much we freaking love jump rope. Seriously.
(the point)
As Stephanie, I have never lost my voice. I came close at the age of twelve. I tried my hardest to succeed at the age of fourteen. I still failed. Well, fast forward to our Vegas trip.
I lost my voice the second day of being sick. And not just halfway either. No, I'm talking full on Grudge imitation. A Brother Severn sound-alike (for those in the Eastern Idaho area). A squawking, out-of-tune creature you couldn't help chuckling at (in your defense, neither could I). I also could barely hear anyone I tried to have a normally-distanced conversation with.
But still I jumped, I yelled counting for routines–I swear I'm the only one that can yell loudly, so I count everything–I sometimes breathed, and I also taught elementary school kids to jump rope for several hours. It was an amazing feat, even though more often than not I'd have to clear my throat to get anything audible to come out. And I was continuously asking nine-year-olds to repeat themselves.
I tried to sing during the car ride home. I couldn't carry a tune. Simple intervals were slaughtered in excruciating, cruel, unusual ways. Poor music. Now I know how the tone-deaf feel. They are stronger people than I am, being able to live without singing.
My only comfort was thinking, "This won't last long, right? Colds only last about seven days, so I'll be fine soon . . ."
(the twist)
WRONG!
3 weeks! I am in no way even exaggerating! Hacking cough, unable to communicate with the world, telling people to speak up.
For 21 days.
504 hours.
30,240 minutes.
1, 814, 400 seconds.
That's an unbelievable time span to not sing in. It was so agonizing! Listening to the beautiful choir in church, and even the congregation. Hearing a favorite song on the radio (the volume twice as high as normal) and banned from the belting of its words. And if the loss of song wasn't heartbreaking enough, I had no recollection of my voice. It seemed these laughable rasps were all I'd ever had. It became a habit to ask if I still sounded sick because, for all I knew, this was the loverly voice I'd developed through my years of living. Of course, when people would answer, I'd yell at them, "What? I can't hear you! You have to talk to me like I'm an old person!" (No insult intended to the elderly here.)
(the speculation)
Something I found interesting was supplied by teammate Nieka. She described a beautiful concept where there's actually a correct manner in which to yell. A procedure to follow so that, no matter the hollering time or distance, the gravel will stay out of your throat. Her suggestion was that I had this ability innately (though it could be taught), which explains my failures earlier in life (not all failures, just the voice-losing ones). So this sporadic, unpredictable cough did something to throw of the natural balance of my voice box.
But who knows how? My family, my teammates, my friends, myself, we are completely mystified. Was it really a cold I had, or was it mono? Possibly the parasitic invasion of an alien compound? Such extreme effects surely cannot be dismissed and discounted. And to simply fade away in a day or two?
It's an outrageous accusation to call this the common cold.
Awesome_
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