Here is St. Cecilia’s Day this 22nd of November: Cecilia, patron saint of music, musicians, and poets. She was an early Roman martyr; her day has been associated with concerts and music festivals since time immemorial, and composers and poets have honored her through the ages. And here’s an interesting bit of trivia: the English composer Benjamin Britten was born on St. Cecilia’s Day, 1913.
I am not particularly musical, but I like being around people who are. My grandfather taught himself to play guitar and mandolin; he would sit and play traditional Italian songs. His guitar is right here next to me. My aunt is also musical: she plays piano and organ and accordion. Her talents took her all over the country and the South Pacific during World War II, playing in the USO for the troops. Here at home, Seth has been teaching himself to play piano, too. We have no piano, but whenever we happen to find ourselves near one, he sits down and plays the songs he knows, mostly Yann Tiersen songs. He’s pretty good.
I am one whose mind is easily boggled, and music boggles me: how a mixture of sounds can have the power to transport and transform astounds me. The astonishment comes out of nowhere sometimes, like last night, as I drove home from work. The thought of traveling the 5-lane freeway at rush hour was depressing me, so I hemmed and hawed and finally decided to take the road less traveled. I drove the coastal highway home, with the vast Atlantic on my right. The night was chilly, so I had the windows half open and the heater on, and there was music: it was The Walking by Jane Siberry, in my CD player since the weather turned cooler. It is lush and cinematic and it feels in some way autumnal to me. My musical selections are like that, for the most part: in tune with the seasonal round of the year, sometimes subliminally, like this one. The Walking accompanied me the whole moonless drive home, up A1A through all the surfside towns, and across the lagoon finally, back to the mainland at Lake Avenue. In the booth at the top of the draw bridge over Lake Worth, which is the name of both my town and the lagoon, I could see my friend Clarence the bridge tender in the lamplight. I waved, but he didn’t see me. I knew he wouldn’t; I was just one of many people driving by. But still it felt right and necessary to wave and say hello. A few minutes later, I was in my driveway. Seth was already home; the lights from inside the house glowed warm and welcoming. The night felt about as perfect as it could be.
What we’re listening to now: some suggestions for the season.
George Winston: Autumn. My friend Kelly Sullivan (she makes the soaps we sell) and I saw George Winston perform at our university back in the 1990s. He played piano barefoot. We were only a couple of rows away from him. I listen still to his seasonal albums––there is December, and Winter into Spring, and Summer, and Autumn––and I wonder how he does that: how he manages to capture the essence of a season in sound. Autumn is, I think, my favorite of his seasonal recordings. Favorite track: “Road.”
Jane Siberry: The Walking. Autumnal, somehow. Cinematic, as I mentioned: the songs on this record are rich and deep, some 9 or 10 minutes long, moving pictures made of sound and imagery. We all have our desert island record, and this is mine. It has informed so much of my creative work. It is a sound track that plays in my head as I walk along my way.
Jane Siberry: Angels Bend Closer. Jane has spent years working on her latest recording, which came about at first with the help of a Kickstarter campaign. The result was a record called Ulysses’ Purse, which she sent to all of us supporters last January. It’s now out as her latest record, with all of the songs re-recorded and slightly different and many new songs added. Ulysses’ Purse is in my rotation now, simply because it is what I have, but Angels Bend Closer was released just a few days ago. “Morag” may very well be the most important song I’ve ever heard. You should listen; you can actually listen to Morag and all the other songs on this album at the link above. Right down where it says “Listen.” Sometimes the best gifts are right there in front of us. You’ll be the sound of the ocean before we see it.
Happy St. Cecilia’s Day.
Image: A recent Jane Siberry photo. I think it’s so striking.
