thank you mr dixon

(yellow birds on branches, brandi milosavich, mixed media on pane, 21x28, found on web)

the entire wknd was rather busy and full of emotions, overflowing into monday early morning... 230am already.   friday was the day of playing music and recording.  saturday was catching up, house work and taking my bro's best buddy (really, theyve known each other since the moment his family moved to canada. and theyve been... inseparable) whom i should come up with a suitable name.  giving someone a moniker on this blog is not an easy task at times, i say. anyways. i may call him mr. joe odagiri, after the japanese actor. yep. he is that stylish. always have been and still is.

i thought it was rather funny to meet him up for a sat eve sake at the ultra trendy and hot izakaya spot: guu, as it seemed almost too well-contextualized.  like one of those asian romantic comics.  loss of friend, meeting with the older sister of the deceased, young and full of emotions, expressing and experiencing the first real close death, in the trendy izakaya full of glamourous, loud and fashionable crowd, in the basking light of gold leafs and distressed wooden counter. ahahaha.  i thought: damn. the only miss is... monkey. shit. shouldve at least try to dress better and be more chill. oh well. monkey shall be a monkey i suppose.

it was nice to meet up with mr. odagiri.  i am glad to hear and share so many little things in life, related and unrelated to gabe.  just let things out and being able to listen.  to laugh and to feel it's alright to celebrate someone when they are not present. what a nice experience.  i hope he had a good evening and that he knows (and feels) that he can hit me up for a rant when necessary.  i havent seen him in ages but boy, it seemed as if i still saw him as often as i did when we were all in high school, living in the same apartment building.  gabe always had mr. odagiri in his life. somewhere. jude to punch.  dr. wilson to dr. house. simply two boys who are bonded brothers.  discovering. learning. laughing and pissing each other off to no end. well. you may argue it may be the end (because gabe is gone), though i suppose there'll be things popping in and out, like whack-a-mole, hint of gabe being ____ (annoying, charming, funny, silly, dumb, whatever goes) within our minds, hearts. therefore, in actions.

then there was the minnow swim.  the phil is hopping around the old deutschland and doing programs involving lots of brahms- the second piano concerto, with herr buchbinder.  i listened to herr buchbinder first time in wien, at the musikverein.  and not knowing much about him then, i thought: what a viennese sound. see, viennese things always have very peculiar stamp on them. the viennese stamp. hard to describe. it's a bit grand than it needs to be, it's a bit more refined than it really is.  it's a bit of waltz and nostalgia, sachertorte in the cushy seat of hotel sacher.  rather than being homely beethoven, it's a bit more of decadent strauss.   it's hint of old world, much of mahogani and pipe tobacco, of busoni's decadent, after-full-bloom scent, musk and vanilla too velvety for its own good, lingering well-over its due time, smudging the beginning of the twentieth century.  however, a viennese sound has another face- a janus, if you will.  older days wiener klassik of haydn, mozart, beethoven and schubert (absolutely beautiful, actually probably is my current obsession at the moment), is also part of the viennese signature.  mix of the clarity of belvedere symmetry with klimt's tension-wrought decadence- that's viennese for me.

he is doing brahms piano concerto no. 2, which has this amazing third movement.  a gentle caressing by the cello wraps the suffering heart of the piano.  here's take by nelson freire, who is one of my favorite pianists, weirdly enough he's a bit of a connoisseur's item as he tours.. every... 10 years.. or so. seriously.  but if you have not heard of him, i swear this is worth your time.

tripartite, the symmetry of the first and last section is quite violently disrupted by the development.  brahms' cello solos always have this amazing thing for me.  for instance, the c minor piano quartet has the one of the most beautiful cello solo in the third mvt.  piano and cello, a gentle conversation. however, the discourse never gets to a resolution. it's always interrupted or swallowed and gets lost by the rest of the ensemble.  at the point of crystallization, a complete turn of discourse.  the most important thing is left to be unsaid though probably understood even it was inaudible.

and it always reminded me of the relationship of brahms and the schumanns.  young brahms, in awe of clara, while clara was completely devoted to robert.  clara understands. but she wont budge for brahms either.  unacquainted.  yearn.  and then when think of schumann's own cello solo in 3rd mvt of his piano quintet, i cannot help but to think of the schumanns and their paired completeness.  unlike the brhams cello solos, this one is given its full presence and the piano and cello is quite happy by themselves, not requiring much more from life. at all.  in comparison then, the brhams piano concerto no. 2's piano is even more tragic, full of  pathos, hence cello taking the role of... consoler.

furthermore, this cello solo of the concerto gets recasted. you see, i think brahms really meant something.  by setting hermann von lingg's lied from gedichte (stuttgart/augsburg, 1857) to this melody, he creates even more concentrated form of 'hunger' and 'comfort': Immer leiser wird mein Schulummer, op. 105, no. 2 (1886):

Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer,
Nur wie Schleier liegt mein Kummer
Zitternd über mir.
Oft im Traume hör ich dich
Rufen drauß vor [meiner]1 Tür,
Niemand wacht und öffnet dir,
Ich erwach und weine bitterlich.

Ja, ich werde sterben müssen,
Eine Andre wirst du küssen,
Wenn ich bleich und kalt.
Eh die Maienlüfte [wehen,]
Eh die Drossel singt im Wald:
Willst du mich noch einmal [sehen,]
Komm, o komme bald!

My slumber grows ever more peaceful;
and only like a thin veil now does my anxiety
lie trembling upon me.
Often in my dreams I hear you
calling outside my door;
no one is awake to let you in,
and I wake up and weep bitterly.

Yes, I will have to die;
another will you kiss,
when I am pale and cold.
Before the May breezes blow,
before the thrush sings in the forest:
if you wish to see me once more,
come, o come soon!

and with minnow, i couldnt help but to dump all these musical mismash into the mix.  of what this cello solo means to me at the moment. of feelings of missing, hurting, yearning, desperate love for my brother. of my loss. of our losses.  then of hope. of healing. teary monkey making a mess of musicology, feelings and brhams, schumann, cello, piano, minnow, everything.  thankfully, minnow understood.  and after a short word with the kind cellist of the phil, the solo of this particular performance, a few remembered loss of gabe.  and i know that he was remembered through one of the most beautiful gestures possible. of humanism.  i will always remember, branded by a warm gesture shared despite of so many differences- of time, feelings, distances, people...  for part of that twelve minutes of brahms 2nd piano concerto, gabe's life wasnt just a loss. it was life. it is life. i owe the cellist a huge pint.  i know pint is a legalized size: one eighth of an imperial gallon. but trust me. this pint from me to him will contain part of my best thanks for all who have decided to live with me during this point of my life.  that's big.  what can be larger than life?

this post is rather long. thick. too much info. and i wonder if i am dwelling too much on my brother's death. i really should edit it. but i cant help it.  i am consumed by it and being the emotional wreck i usually am, i do not have any other choice but to live through it. soaked in it.  if you made it to this far, i thank you.  for your patience. for your time. for your love (as i cant imagine someone reading such a boring post without some kind of love, not necessarily for me or for gabe, but of a common experience of human love). for life.

with such mellow blanket of b flat major, i shall try to get some sleep.  the key of sagittarius, the mutable fire sign between the autumn to winter change.  endlessly flowing river.  often favoured key of wind instruments.  i do not believe in coincidences, but in hope in the string theory- that all things are related. and there are so much more meanings and beauties in small things in life. as they are never just small things.  it is just that we reduce them for convenience.  so let's dwell on small things.

1 comment:

  1. the music was connected, for those minutes, in many ways, through space, minds, feelings, humans, miles. sleep soundly, in Bb.