Every once in awhile, I get to witness a piece of performing art that really works. All the parts are there- the performer fully synthesizes the work and effectively conveys its beauty and purpose. Such performances stick with me and I always feel lucky to have been there, especially when they are unexpected.
No one goes to student recitals expecting great art. My reluctant pianists, Q and Bear, were slotted to play on the program, and that is the only reason I was there. (I do enjoy music school recitals- assuming they are not longer than one hour and the string players all have a general grasp of the difference between whole and half steps.)
A five-year old in a double-breasted suit and superhero sneakers started us off. His face was serious and his 8 bars were just what you’d expect. There were girls in flouncy dresses, boys in khakis and button downs. The young ones tend to be calm and matter of fact. The older children have nerves when they bow, but not when they play. It is the teenagers that I root for- fighting nerves through every measure, hands shaking whenever not engaged in playing. One of them made the sign of the cross over himself when he finished.
Halfway through the program was John, a singer. I’ve seen him at other recitals. He’s only studied voice for a year or two. He walked to the side of the piano, smiled at the audience, and waited for his accompanist. I saw him counting out the measures of introduction in his head. He sang. His is a soft voice, not powerful or lithe. There is a quiver in it. I don’t think it was because John was nervous. I think it’s because he is at least seventy.
Effective music is not about showcasing technical perfection. Ultimately, it is about communicating the deepest emotions of the human experience. John emoted his song, transmitting it with his body language, as well as his voice. The poetry was in the combination of the lyrics and this performer, a man who has lived long enough to know the sorrows and difficulties of life, who’s age shows in his face and his walk. Yet he stood in front of a room of strangers and sang with such joy and gratitude that I was moved to tears and inspired to live that same way- to learn new things as long as I am able, to squeeze as much living as I can out of life, and to remain grateful for each day and every good thing.My life flows on in endless song; Above earth’s lamentation, I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn That hails a new creation; Through all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing; It finds an echo in my soul— How can I keep from singing? What though my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Savior liveth; What though the darkness gather round? Songs in the night he giveth. No storm can shake my inmost calm While to that refuge clinging; Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing? I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin; I see the blue above it; And day by day this pathway smooths, Since first I learned to love it; The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart, A fountain ever springing; All things are mine since I am his— How can I keep from singing? -Robert Wadsworth Lowry