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Not Dark Yet #264: sight and sound

28/1/2018

10 Comments

 
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There ought to be a word for it. There probably is a word for it in German. But the loss of one’s most precious sense, the sense that plays a central role in one’s life and work, appears not to have a specific medical or psychological term in the English language.
 
For Beethoven, whose extraordinary String Quartet in A minor, the Opus 132, I heard played superbly by the Brodsky Quartet on Friday evening, it was loss of hearing.

For Bruce Chatwin, it was loss of his sight. “People would compliment me on my ‘eye’” he wrote, “and my eyes, in rebellion, gave out.

​“After a strenuous bout of New York, I woke one morning half-blind. The eye specialist said there was nothing wrong organically. Perhaps I'd been looking too closely at pictures? Perhaps I should try some long horizons?”
 
As John Berger taught us, there are different ways of seeing. And different ways of hearing.
 
Beethoven’s late quartets were written in silence. He was profoundly deaf. But he was recovered from a life-threatening gastric illness and was ready to address in his music his sense of mortality. Nowhere is this contemplation on life and death more emotionally charged and exquisitely expressed than in the third – slow – movement of the A minor, a Song of Thanksgiving for his recovery.
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I have never heard it played so beautifully or so slowly, and listening with my eyes closed – a procedure on my eyes 48 hours previously had left me with headaches and blurred vision – I thought of that scene in Huxley’s Point Counterpoint, when the nihilist Spandrell introduces Rampion to this piece, claiming that it proves everything – God and goodness amongst other things – and that only Beethoven could achieve this “counterpoint of serenities”.
 
And one reason why it could only be Beethoven is precisely because his most precious sense was gone. His deafness forced him into introspection. The sounds he heard in his head are the sounds of his hopes and his anguish, uncontaminated by the outside world. And he heard them in the purest manner. He did not sit at the piano to compose. He did not make the compromises of traditional composition. He poured it directly to the paper in profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
 
All this went through my own head during that third movement as the Brodsky dispensed a salve on my self-pity and paranoia at the possible prognosis for my precious sight.
 
It was a genuine catharsis, a much-needed purgation of pity and fear. I feel better now.
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: Unaccountably, this is the first time I have seen the Brodsky perform live and I resolve that it shall not be the last. But meantime, delving into the digital vaults, I discovered this morning The Juliet Letters, a joint enterprise with Elvis Costello. I can’t remember acquiring it or playing it before, but it is strangely affecting. 

10 Comments
Ed
28/1/2018 11:34:02 am

Hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.

Good piece. Hope everything works out.

Reply
Allan
28/1/2018 02:28:56 pm

It sounds serious, Max. Not the Beethoven but the eye condition. Hope it is resolved and admire your resolution. Have the Brodsky doing the complete Shostakovich quartets and they are my preferred versions, so although I haven't heard their Beethoven interpretations, I can imagine that they are close to definitive. A great deal of competition though - from Amadeus to Lindsays.

Interesting parallels between loss of sight and loss of hearing. I cannot imagine either. Nor taste and smell when I open a decent bottle!

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Sally
28/1/2018 02:53:00 pm

When one attends a concert, especially an intimate gathering for chamber music, is one going to see or hear?

Is one going to see the musicians? Or listen to the music? Which can be heard on a decent hi-fi system in a flawless and professionally produced format.

It's both, of course. The music takes on something else when played live, in a particular place, at a particular time, in the company perhaps of friends who also appreciate Beethoven or Shostakovich or Bach.

However much you listen, I do hope that you will always and also be able to see the music performed.

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David
28/1/2018 04:25:28 pm

I bet there is a word for this situation/syndrome/condition. Hope that a German or German-speaking reader will get back to us. It must be what software developers would call a 'known issue' and someone, somewhere must have written a paper about it. Apart from this post, of course.

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(Not that)Bob
29/1/2018 08:55:48 am

It is of course not solely the senses but also sensibility, being able to understand and respond to these emotional and aesthetic influences.

You seem to be ok in this respect.

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J.
29/1/2018 09:24:44 pm

Brodsky did some wonderful work with Bjork a few years ago. Maybe quite a different style to Beethoven, but we’ll worth a listen. I think you will find some pleasure there too, Max.

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Andy
30/1/2018 09:46:00 pm

The Shelley/Skylark allusion is all very well, and reads well. But the one thing those late quartets are not is 'unpremeditated'.

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Ann
4/2/2018 01:44:29 pm

I've just read this out loud to Don and he's in bits - and tears. Combination of the late Beethoven quartets - specifically the 132 - and losing ones senses (if not sensibilities!) with advancing years - Don has had the eye injections for macular degeneration and happily they worked - but he still has to attend the Warwick eye clinic for check ups - I can't get over the expense the NHS goes to for people who would be considered as 'cured' - but might relapse... they don't let you go!!
As for the music - you know about Don and music....
Big hugs my lovely
xxx

Reply
Léon
6/2/2018 09:06:34 am

Wonderful as the Opus 132 was and is, I beg you to listen (again, probably!) to this last movement of the 3rd Rasumovsky.

It banishes all care - and reaffirms what someone (I know not who) said that Beethoven 'reveals the possibilities of the human spirit'.

I remember listening to this on the cliffs outside St. Romain, near Beaune, on a summer evening with Mrs. B. glass in hand. Gosh!

I have tbh imbibed a glass or two of Cairanne, so may be a little emotional. But I thinks this is terrific and hope that it may give you some comfort!

Reply
Geoff
7/2/2018 10:23:54 am

Working my way through these posts. Love the 'long horizons' story. I guess that was the impetus for Patagonia, or Songlines? I doubt whether my doctor would give such wonderful advice. It would seem to be appropriate in so many situations today. I may heed it myself.

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    Max Smith

    British writer, radical, retired restaurateur and Red Sox fan. 60-something (pretty close to 70-something) husband, father, step-father, grandfather and son. Resident in Leamington Spa, England.

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