...in my memories, that is. The other night I pulled out my old vocal music books from good ol' NCCC, remembered singing along with Dave (Dave! David Smith! I know some of you remember Dave!) pounding out old jazz tunes on the piano, singing loud just to hear the notes echo back to me and letting the occasional high F rip off the ceiling of that practice room. Mood Indigo, Old Devil Moon, God Bless the Child; Morgen, Depuis le jour, O mio babbino caro...hating German with a passion, letting the thick gutteral consonants serenade and eventually seduce me into loving the emotion-filled songs...
There is something in traditional, old songs - both the romantic Italian arias by Puccini, and the speak-easy showtunes of Billie Holliday and Nina Simone - that works over a different part of the musical mind than easy-to-sing, foamy songs that you hear on the radio today. Maybe if I knew something, anything, about the psychology of music, I could explain what that is. True story: I miss singing those old songs with Dave. I wish I knew how to play piano. I love singing opera and jazz. It's 5 AM, I'm awake with nothing to do but listen to music and try to not break out in song...my fellow nurses might try to check me in...although they should be used to my eccentric behavior by now...
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