the lost man chronicles
the kinesiology of music, part three .82

on saturday, i went to see Stomp, A Musical Odyssey—an Imax film that without any narration, any dialogue or lyrics that are comprehensible to the average American ear, takes the audience on a brief melodic journey around the world.

riding upon rhythm generated everywhere from curbside Astor Square, to where the earth has been stomped in the same way for thousands of years in Africa, we were treated to an inspiring monumental documentary of why we are all the same inside.

and at the end of the film i cried. my tears fell down one at a time in cadence with the harmony made by the assembly of voices which represented faces from every continent.

heard separately, most of those untrained to recognize the euphony, might erroneously believe that each one of the members produced a sound that was wholly different. yet, here ensemble, the truth was revealed at last—we are all the same, and if we bother to listen we can hear the same chords and notes and pitches of a symphony that runs through us all.

there was one group, in this production which showcased about a dozen musical styles, which stood out below all the others. this was the only assembly that did not dance to their music and which were not represented in the vocal finale as well (nor are they featured on the CD soundtrack). they were the bell ringers of the Winchester Cathedral in South England. throughout the performance they simply stood there stiff, not one of them smiled and no one moved anything more than was required of them to ring the bells.

for some odd reason, the western world has come to understand music as one of two kinds—one that you merely listen to and another that you move to. ultimately, all music is meant to move you, and in one way or another meant to be danced to—some are slow dances which are meant to sooth and disperse the dissonance inside, perhaps, even contrived to inspire thought, and others are of the kind that confirms that we are indeed alive.

“There are kids who grow up and they’re outcasts,” she said. “And they pick out this strange music to listen to to sort of ensure how alone they are, to make it their choice: No one else can be listening to this music. For Moby, it was the opposite: he was the lonely kid connecting to others out there by imagining they were listening to the music he was listening to by himself. And he’s remained such a lonely character by nature that I honestly think he lost the idea that all these people out there are listening to the same song he is, only now it’s one he’s made.”

~ All by Himself, New York Times Magazine, 3.17.02, Gerald Marzorati

the kinesiology of music, 2 .81 previous chronicle the beginning next chronicle 83. the kinesiology of music, 4

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