Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Shortly before Wailing Willy across the river starts up, I try to don my headphones and play something rousing and stirring to drown him out. Surprisingly, even though I play loud music, it is my music and I enjoy it without ill effects. If I let Wailing Willy to his own devices (if I don't get up in time or don't have a computer) I invariably get a horrid headache.
This morning, instead of Bach, Elgar or Beethoven, I played Che gelida manina[2]. For once it was like with like; human voice v. human voice. The exquisite beauty of the tenor was unbelievable, and far more likely to inspire gratitude and joy for the exhilaration of being alive than the dreadful dirge deafeningly demanding the denizens de-bed and do their duty.
You are right that it is a wondrous thing that the grown-ups are too frightened to tell the children that they are children for fear they will stamp their feet and break all the china.