The Nutcracker (Not Suite)

My first exposure to the Nutcracker, believe it or not, was the Care Bears Nutcracker Suite. I was eight.

When I discovered years later that it was actually a ballet, I was intrigued. I had these dreams of being a dancer, but alas, funds made it an impossible avenue to explore. Until college that is. I discovered I could take dance classes on the cheap, so I started with ballet. My dreams of being a ballerina (rrrrright) were shattered one day when, during bar exercises, my teacher started yelling at me from across the room: "Ms. Bradshaw, tuck your pelvis under, keep in alignment." I thought I was in alignment. I double-checked. Yep, all tucked. "Ms. Bradshaw, TUCK, TUCK!" Frustrated, I wanted to yell, "I AM tucked," but it was not a refined enough response for a ballet class, so I just looked at her helplessly and continued. She came marching over to me, placed one hand on my stomach and one on my butt, and tried to move my pelvis. She stopped short, "Oh, you are tucked." I wanted to say, "And that's what they call bootie, ma'am," but I simply sighed and crossed ballet off my list. If that wasn't evidence enough of my doomed career as a ballerina, the floor exercises would have done it. Me trying to pirouette was disgraceful. I discovered then that I had zero balance. It was embarrassing. But I digress...

Fast-forward many years later to when when Ch and I moved in together. She bought a Nutcracker piano duet book and we happily slaughtered Tchaikovsky all Christmas season. Then we decided to see the Nutcracker at the Kennedy Center. Despite my failure as a ballerina, I was pretty excited. I had never been to a ballet and I figured since I already knew the music and the basic storyline it would be a good introduction. And it was. Except... I honestly still had the story of the Care Bears Nutcracker Suite in my mind and I was pretty confused at parts. Also, I couldn't get over the fact that Dr. Drosselmeyer looked a bit sinister throughout (a little like the evil vizier in the Care Bears). Is he supposed to? Despite that, I did, however, fall in love with ballet.

Last night I went to see the Nutcracker at the Kennedy Center again. I had forgotten how much the story really doesn't make much sense, but remembered that it also doesn't really matter. Since I have now seen the ballet several times, I was able to pay attention to some other things, such as the people sitting around me and their reactions, as well as various parts of the ballet I had missed before. So, ladies and gentlemen, I present last night's highlights:

1. The little girls in their formal little Christmas dresses, some of them probably seeing a ballet for the first time. Their little eyes were wide with excitement going in, and even wider with wonder coming out.

2. The snow prince. He was dynamite.

3. When the snow queen did her very elegant blind twist and jump (I wish I knew the term for this because it was much more elegant than I'm making it sound), landing delicately on the snow king's shoulder with no hint of a bobble. Truly impressive.

4. The reaction of the septuagenarian sitting behind me when the Nutcracker Prince came on stage in the second act. (He merely said what we all were thinking) "Did you see his glutes, dear? Check out those glutes! I mean, that's impressive." It was hard for me not to giggle a little bit. It was impressive. With him clad in white tights, he looked like a piece of sculpted marble. (I probably should be blushing with that description, but I'm not.) One of the reasons I love ballet is the incredible athleticism mixed with delicate grace. It is absolutely mind-blowing what they do while looking so beautiful.

5. The Russian dance. Always the Russian dance.

6. The Grand Pas De Deux. For some reason last night it made me cry. It was beautiful. The music was incredibly moving and the dancing was lovely. I am always taken with the idea of the male lead doing everything he can to make the female lead look at beautiful as possible: their lines, the lifts, everything. They were a great pair.

7. The Nutcracker Prince's solo following the Pas De Deux. I couldn't help it: the thought came into my mind, "This is where he proves he's more than a pretty pair of glutes." Very impressive. He was super tall (which you didn't realize until Clara stood next to him and came up to his waist) and yet incredibly light on his feet.

8. All the little kid ballerinas. Adorable. I wanted to eat all of them.

Thanks, M, for organizing such a fun night!

Messiah

It was a dark and bitterly cold night. I swallowed my fear of buses and took the 32 down to the National Cathedral where I had tickets to see the Messiah. I had bought them very last-minute so I had exactly two choices of where I could get seats. Seated in the back of the North Transcept, we had a perfect view of the orchestra, the choir, and the soloists when they were seated. I had medium expectations for this performance going in, which were solidified as I realized I would not be able to see the soloists when they sung.



The Messiah opens with an orchestral number. As they began, I realized this was not going to be a mediocre performance; they were good, the acoustics were fantastic, and we were in a good position to hear some of the best sound. I should add a quick insert here on my love for cathedrals and the musical sound produced within their walls. My memory and love of my studies in Europe are very tightly connected with evensong and other performances in cathedrals and abbeys and their otherworldly, transportational quality. Those feelings and more came rushing back as the orchestral overture was followed by the tenor solo of "Comfort Ye."


I have heard "Comfort Ye" many, many times, but cannot remember ever having been so moved by it. Rufus Muller's rendition had a storytelling quality, enhanced by his rich yet light voice. The cathedral was hushed. A chill rushed through me and didn't stop. I closed my eyes and listened to his voice soar through the ceilings of that cathedral. It was simply beautiful.


The rest of the performance followed suit. The choir had precision and expression. The bell tones of the children hit the cathedral's acoustic sweet spots. My prejudice against baroque-style baritones was shattered. It was a pleasure to hear a true alto sing. I don't know if I can explain that adequately - a soprano could sing those same notes, but the sound would not be nearly as rich. (Cherie could probably explain this better than I.) And the soprano hit those notes in the stratosphere as if they were nothing, perfectly on pitch, with a beautiful, soaring tone, light and fresh. It was agreed: it was the most lovely performance of Messiah we had ever heard.


The list of truly moving performances I have attended is short. They include things such as my first musical, Phantom of the Opera, my first experience with BYU Singers, a random organist praticing in a church on St. Catherine's campus, seeing Les Miserables on broadway, hearing Chanticleer live, seeing Jean Yves Thibaudet's fingers command the piano at the Kennedy Center, hearing Jenny Oaks Baker down the hall in the stake center without realizing who it was, to name a few. Each of these performances touched me for a different reason but I can remember what I was thinking and feeling as clearly as ever. I can now add one more to the list. I'd say we kicked off the Christmas season pretty well. The scary bus ride was definitely worth it.

Abide With Me, Tis Eventide

Abide with me; 'tis eventide.
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on.
Within my heart a welcome guest,
Within my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

Abide with me; 'tis eventide.
Thy walk today with me
Has made my heart within me burn,
As I communed with thee.
Thy earnest words have filled my soul
And kept me near thy side.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

Abide with me; 'tis eventide,
And lone will be the night
If I cannot commune with thee
Nor find in thee my light.
The darkness of the world, I fear,
Would in my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, 'tis eventide.

My favorite hymn. Its words speak to my soul in a way that is hard for me to explain. It makes me think of asking the Savior to tarry a little longer, knowing his presence will drive away any darkness or loneliness...there is a lot of love and humility in that request. It makes me think of coming home from a long, tiring day, knowing there is a fire in the fireplace, two cozy chairs, and a friend waiting there for me. It makes me think of a dream I had many years ago that involved meeting and worshipping my Savior. It was powerful and affected me deeply. I think of my reunion with Him when I hear this song. Some hymns touch me intermittently, but I cannot sing or hear this song without being touched, without feeling a longing to return to Him, without desiring to repent and live more righteously so that at least His spirit can abide with me, even if He cannot right now. I was listening to this hymn on my way to work today (as sung by George Dyer - it is lovely and very moving) and so it was on my mind. The arrangement is so simple and so sincere, which is the way I try to hear and sing this song, the way I try to feel these sentiments, the way I try to feel my Savior's love.

The Power of Music

This morning I woke up before the sun and rode my bike down to the Belle Haven Marina. The morning was crisp and quiet. It was just me, my bike, and a quiet Mt. Vernon trail. It's been kind of a long week and I just felt this need to get away for a moment, farther and faster (and frankly with less effort) than running could take me. The marina at sunrise was the perfect place. I composed the perfect relaxing playlist for my outing. When I arrived at the marina, my playlist finally arrived at a song a friend introduced to me the other night: a Cambodian lullaby, part of a collection of lullabies from around the world. When I first heard it, the feelings were similar to what I felt upon listening to it again this morning. I don't know that I entirely understand it and therefore am having difficulty explaining it, but I was deeply touched. How is it that a song with words I don't understand and a tune I don't recognize is able touch me that way? What is it about music that makes it so transcendent?

Music has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. Since I'm on the younger end of my family, the music started in my house long before I entered. Almost all my older siblings played a musical instrument of one sort or another and we usually spent Sunday afternoons around the piano singing or playing those instruments as a family. My own training was primarily classical in nature but I've always been drawn to all types of music. I've had many spiritual experiences through the preparation, performance, and observation of music, and, over the last couple of years or so, I have stopped to think about why that is. I don't know that I've come up with a good, concrete answer. I have lots of theories and ideas, but I won't outline them all here. I will, however, make this very general and obvious statement: I think music means more than we think it does.

Sure, you can give scientific explanations of places in the brain that are stimulated when one listens to a piece of music, thus creating a sense of pleasure, but I'm talking about something more. I'm talking about music on a spiritual level--not necessarily spiritual music, but music of all kinds, tempos, beats, etc., that awakens something dormant, that causes you to be surprised by the joy you find welling up and spilling over. D&C 25:12 tells us that God considers the song of the righteous to be prayer. Prayer has the power to heal, to move mountains, to call upon the power of God through our faith. It would follow then, that music could have the same power. It's interesting to stop and think about that. What is it about music that gives it so much power?

Thoughts?

Some side notes/afterthoughts:

(1) If the song of the righteous is like a prayer, then what is the song of the unrighteous?

(2) I think Tolkien may have had more insight than he realized when he wrote the Ainulindale, "The Music of the Ainur" (first chapter of The Silmarillion). It's worth a read; don't let yourself get bogged down in the names; unless you're a serious Tolkien reader you don't need to keep many straight. All you need to know is that Iluvatar is God, Melkor is the dissenter (a Lucifer figure), and the Ainur are like demi-gods (Michael and others, if you will). It's one of the coolest creation stories I've read, mainly because it deals with creation and visions through music.

(3) Another thing about music I have considered a bit in the last year or so is its place in "one eternal round." Music's relationship to mathematics and the components of famous and timeless pieces are fascinating to consider. The thing that really spurred on this particular thought process was this NPR segment: http://www.wnyc.org/music/articles/27256. It's fascinating (the parts about motives and mathematics, etc., not the crazy Wagnerians, though they are fascinating in their own right), especially if you like Wagner and/or the humanities in general.