about my relationship with music
|I was probably about 13 when I really discovered organ music. I remember it was a Saturday, and I couldn't find anything interesting to do, so I decided to take a look through my father's record cabinet.
It was this kind where you'd pull a little handle on the front to open it, and if you weren't careful, records would come spilling out onto your feet. I opened it as carefully as I could, and began casually rifling through, looking for something to catch my eye.
I pulled out a record of organ music, featuring French composers, the first piece on the record was a toccata from an organ symphony by Charles-Marie Widor. I remember putting the needle to the record, and then, as soon as the music began, I remember something very important happening inside me. It may be difficult to explain, but I'll try.
It was if I had this enormous black canvas inside my mind, and it had always been so blank, and so dormant, that I hadn't even realized it was there. But then, as those first notes hit my ears and entered inside, it was as if this enormous fissure opened up right in the center of it, and a beautiful mixture of shimmering light and color came pouring and bubbling out, like a giant 3-dimensional fountain.
I remember feeling taken aback at the incredible vividness of what I was seeing. and then, as I continued to listen, and the registrations on the organ began to change, the colors and the shapes of what I saw began to shift and shimmer.
What was happening didn't just seem like music to me, it was this beautiful, shifting, gracefully moving, liquid picture, popping out from nowhere, this awe-inspiring fountain of music, not just a collections of notes, but like a feeling bubbling up from inside, of joy and intelligence, bursting out of containment.
And then, as the final notes of the piece died out, the shimmering light and color receded back down and levelled away back down into the fissure, and all was dark again. I was pretty much hooked after that.