SWEET SOUND SUNDAY

"Multi-Dimensional Magnificence"

The West Village Chorale at Judson Memorial Church

Spring Concert

June 5th 2016

 

 "Inspired by the many concerts produced by the American composer and conductor Greg Smith",who was himself "inspired by polychoral traditions from San Marco, Venice Italy, to the stereophonic tendencies of Charles Ives."

Ominous sky over Washington Square

 Before the concert

Two windows in the stairwell to the concert hall

1.

 2.

 The choir surrounded the audience and was in constant movement between and sometimes during some of the choral works.  This device gave us multiple perspectives on the pieces.  Sometimes the sound was right behind me, and then it was surround sound.  A very powerful listening experience, and a rigorous choreographic feat for the performers.  The choir continues to ripen and mature.  This was my third experience with them and I look forward to many more.  

My friend Michael

(understandably exhausted but happy)

After the Concert

The sky over Washington Square was gorgeous

 Stunning

 Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful

 While staring in wonder, we encountered another woman, coincidentally also named Michelle (Lerner) admiring the view.  She joined us since she was going in the same direction and we found we had much in common.  One more magical moment appeared when we found a perfectly healthy discarded Gardenia plant which, since she lived nearby, we entrusted it to her as we headed over to Waverly Place to the White Oak Tavern bidding farewell to our new friend.  Michael and his friend Lauren had some food and libation, while I stuck to water with a lemon twist, having sated myself at the sumptuous after concert feast.

 We parted for our trips home, she heading West to the subway, while Michael and I boarded the third Avenue bus.

~*~

LINK

http://westvillagechorale.org/

A GENTLE GHOST STORY

THE GHOST GLEN
Story by Michelle Slater

  
Young Yakov always listened to the wind.  It spoke to him.  It spoke

to his friend Anatole the fox as well.  One night he thought he heard it
say "come to the forest", so he put on his boots and cap, remembering

to fix the magic feather in it's headband.  His feather was like a compass.

He could always count on it to turn him in the right direction if he got lost.

Shutting the door, and buttoning the latch he'd made from rope and wood

so it wouldn't blow open while he was gone, he headed off.  Anatole

walked a little way along side him, but then circled back to keep watch.
 

Feather was pointing toward the ghost glen, a place he never
went, since it was supposed to contain the spirits of all the trees
that were cut down for wood.  He felt a bit afraid.  Anatole had
told him that on full moon nights the ghost trees were friendly,
and it was a full moon night. Despite his fear, he set his feet on
the path again, and just kept going until he found them.....tall
shimmering things, they were, and talking amongst themselves
the way leaves talk when the wind blows.  He hid.

 
They seemed happy. Some were laughing. They hadn't even
notice him, so he walked amongst them, ever so quietly.
listening, and he learned many things--things about history, and
things about the movement of stars, and what snow felt like to
them, that their roots connect, and that they are one family that
stretches around the earth underground, but most important of
all, he learned that they did not hate the men who had cut them
down, that they understood why, and had forgiven them, that
each of them had left seeds to grow as soon as they'd heard the
ax fall that very first time.  

Just before dawn, they grew silent, as  one by one birds, and other

forest creatures woke..  With the sun rising, Yakov returned to his hut.

Then, although  he could barely keep his eyes open, he told Anatole

everything he had seen and heard. The little fox was very content

when they  curled into bed together.

From that day on Yakov was changed in the most wonderful way.

He became easier in the world, and  was hardly ever afraid again.

Eventually, he grew into a fine man, and became rather famous for

his  beautiful stone huts, an excellent builder, well known all over his

district. 

He visited the ghost trees often with Anatole, and when he was a

very, very old man, that's where he went to die, into the ghost glen.

It was on another full moon night, he simply lay down amongst them,

and fell into a deep sleep, from which he never woke. Moss and lichen

grew over the spot forming a huge mound.  You can see it there still.  It's a  
peacefull spot.  And, if you are lucky, you will hear the trees sing.


Inspired by Mo Boyles wonderful cloth work and posted with it here on 9.24.2912

STORY FOR CLOTH