Friday night, and the lamp is low, but the music is on, and the evening is young.
A young evening, wanting and waiting only to unfurl its splendor, whatever form that might take, whatever fun or love we might make – and an especially young point, as the weekend is an extra-long holiday weekend, making Monday into Sunday – and Sunday a glorious bonus.
Dream beside me in the midnight glow, the lamp Is low Dream and watch the shadows come and go, the lamp Is low While you linger in my arms, my lips will sigh “I love you so” Dream the sweetest dreams you’ll ever know Tonight the moon is high, the lamp is low
The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale is a dense and volurious work (see all the links below, and consider that we’re only a little more than halfway through posting the entire thing). To make it a little more palatable and fun, it contained silly breaks for pop culture nods and winks, including this one.
Just take those old records off the shelf I’ll sit and listen to ’em by myself Today’s music ain’t got the same soul I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll Don’t try to take me to a disco You’ll never even get me out on the floor In ten minutes I’ll be late for the door I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll
Still like that old time rock ‘n’ roll That kind of music just soothes the soul I reminisce about the days of old With that old time rock ‘n’ roll (oh)
Won’t go to hear ’em play a tango I’d rather hear some blues or funky old soul There’s only one sure way to get me to go Start playing old time rock ‘n’ roll Call me a relic, call me what you will Say I’m old-fashioned, say I’m over the hill Today’s music ain’t got the same soul I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll
Still like that old time rock ‘n’ roll That kind of music just soothes the soul I reminisce about the days of old With that old time rock ‘n’ roll (oh)
Still like that old time rock ‘n’ roll That kind of music just soothes the soul I reminisce about the days of old With that old time rock ‘n’ roll (oh)
May makes for magical and magnificent musical memories, and a little alliteration alights like a lilting airy lyric, married and melded to a melancholy melody.
May makes for moody musical moments – and a few follow:
“For the Prince and his love the male Swan, redemption comes through death. But not even the pecking of his swan mates nor the poking and prodding of the Prince’s nurses and doctor can ultimately defeat the love the two found in each other’s embrace.” – David Roberts
“As the Queen approaches her dead son on his bed – the closest she has come to expressing any sincere human emotion throughout – the audience sees the Swan and the Prince above and behind the bed, in an embrace which will eternally link their hearts and their love and gives hope to all who search for love and meaning in a relationship.” ~ David Roberts
“When our perceived self merges with our real self, there is usually some kind of death and loss, but more importantly, there is a rebirth.” ~ David Roberts
“Only in adulthood can any intelligent understanding of the meaning of one’s existence in this world be gained from one’s experiences in it.”~ Bruno Bettleheim
“Psychological discoveries aid the adult in comprehending the child from within an adult’s frame of reference. But such adult understanding of the machinations of a child’s mind often increases the gap between them – the two seem to look at the same phenomenon from such different points of view that each sees something quite different. If the adult insists that the way he sees things is correct – as it may well be, seen objectively and with adult knowledge – this gives the child a hopeless feeling that there is no use in trying to arrive at a common understanding. Knowing who holds the power, the child, to avoid trouble and have his peace, says that he agrees with the adult, and is then forced to go it alone.”~ Bruno Bettelheim
“For those who immerse themselves in what the fairy tale has to communicate, it becomes a deep, quiet pool which at first seems to reflect only our own image; but behind it we soon discover the inner turmoils of our soul – its depth, and ways to gain peace within ourselves and with the world, which is the reward of our struggles.” ~ Bruno Bettelheim
From the purest of pain to the grandest of grace… only we aren’t there yet, and the fairy’s tale is far from over.
There will be darkness before the light,
hurt before the healing,
and loss before the love.
But always… always… there is love.
When last we left our prince, he had attempted to take his life…
“His attempt is subverted by The Swan who emerges from the water. The Prince recognizes The Swan from his dreams and is instantly attracted to him. The Swan is joined by other swans who seem to threaten The Prince. The Swan controls them and protects The Prince, becoming his soul mate and his reason to live.” ~ David Roberts
“More importantly, the Swan’s embrace of The Prince is the moment he recognizes who he is and what kind of love he wants and needs. He is able to accept that he is gay and finds a peace that he has never known before.” ~ David Roberts
“In the second act, despite the growth he has experienced, the Prince falls into deeper despair, particularly when, at a dance, he recognizes an intruder to look just like his Swan. The events which follow result not in life, but in the accidental death of his Girlfriend.” ~ David Roberts
“Alone in his bed, he is visited by the swans who quickly disappear. The Prince’s Swan emerges from the bed and in a tender and beautiful fashion, invites The Prince onto the bed.” ~ David Roberts
“The other swans re-enter and kill The Swan. The Prince, alone, dies of despair. His mother enters to discover her dead son and for the first time expresses emotion, even love for him. Above the bed appears The Swan with the Young Prince cradled in his wings.” ~ David Roberts
A fairy tale turned on its head, reversing gender roles, mind-fucking preconceived notions, and inverting the idea of where wisdom and knowledge resides, this story is like a multi-faceted jewel with many planes and cuts and angles.
Life examined through the eyes of a child is life at its purest, and no matter how we try to hide what we do, children always see right through it. Whether they realize it plainly and actually, or merely sense it through instinct and natural empathy, children know.
We know.
Mathew Bourne’s take on ‘Swan Lake’ posits a male version of the ballet – a gay fantasia that blasphemes the traditional and uptight ballet rules, throwing them out and replacing them with passion and messy emotion. It thrilled and moved me, sparking memories of a childhood of dreams and nightmares, desire and fantasy and tragedy – a dramatically operatic presentation of a gay boy’s past, somehow imagined and known and conjured by a gay composer.
A review by David Roberts captured the story and the meanings behind it better than I could have done. He will narrate the rest of this swan’s tale.
“”Swan Lake” opens with The Young Prince tossing and turning in his very large bed, agitated by nightmares. Above him appears a figure from his imagination, a powerful swan. The figure disappears and his mother The Queen enters his room to console him; however, when he reaches out to her she turns away from him unable to give him the love and attention and acceptance that he needs.” ~ David Roberts
“In the remainder of the first act, we see The Young Prince and The Prince now grown attempting to adjust to being part of a Royal Family. He is paraded around by his mother, they both wave a lot (as Royals do), smile a lot (as Royals must), cut ribbons and launch new ships. But all of this activity does not satisfy the Prince’s need for love.” ~ David Roberts
“This is a Prince struggling with issues of separation and individualism, sexual identity, and self-realization. His Private Secretary continuously tries to set him up with a girlfriend. The Queen does not approve of this commoner and The Prince becomes more frustrated in his ability to find a significant relationship and determines to commit suicide by throwing himself into the lake in the park on the grounds of the palace.” ~ David Roberts
“The funny thing is, the more people I surround myself with, the lonelier I feel. I could be dancing in a sea of people and still be completely alone. You may be the very first person at one of these parties to see me.”
? M.A. Kuzniar
Why should such magic be reserved solely for the ugly ducklings?
And haven’t they suffered enough?
Even the beautiful don’t often realize at what price beauty comes. It is not always a gift.
The same might be said of youth, more powerfully too, as that is something all of us have had in one way or another. Did you realize yours when it was at hand? Did you appreciate and acknowledge its power? Did you savor or favor those precious days?
Everyone had a childhood, and the common elements of childhood are largely the same no matter where or when you journeyed through yours. It was a time of peril and danger, delicacy and delight, tenderness and toughness – the very best of times, and the very worst. The entire world tilted and teetered on a tear or a laugh, and the smallest of gestures felt like the grandest and most life-altering of catastrophes.
Darkness loomed around every corner and every edge of every day.
The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale has reached its swan transformation, which is arguably the centerpiece of the entire project. Twenty years ago I was only just beginning to genuinely reflect and process my own childhood – the hurts and harm done in that time, done to me, done by me – and this sort of self-psycho-analysis came with its own risks, its own darkness.
Our prancing peacock shape-shifts into a beautiful swan – beautiful and viciously brutal.
Returning to the doldrums of reality following an enchanting weekend like we just had is always a trying time, and once we got back home the rain began and didn’t let up for a few days. That was fine with me – it felt right, as though we were reacclimatizing to the usual routine, and a cocoon of a rainy spell has always been good for healing. The memories were fresh enough to feel like part of our magical weekend was still continuing. I put on some music from our time in Boston, turned on a few more lamps than usual in the living room, and felt the enchantment return, only slightly diminished.
Of course it helps that Andy is somewhere nearby, and the company of a husband is one of the greatest comforts and luxuries this life affords. That’s the real balm when decompressing from such fun.
Considered by some to be the Holy Grail of fragrances right now, ‘Imagination’ by Louis Vuitton is rightfully renowned for its exquisite soapy, tea-like charm, and remarkable performance. It’s an almost-impossible balancing act – to be both delicate and long-lasting, and for that reason this is justified in its exorbitant price point. It’s a very special bottle, and Andy was kind enough to gift me this one for our 15th wedding anniversary. There is something magical about making a scent memory, and pairing it with a fragrance as precious as this makes for the sort of enchantment that comes around once every fifteen years. Cue some Ella Fitzgerald singing the title song of this post:
Imagination is funny It makes a cloudy day sunny Makes a bee think of honey Just as I think of you
Imagination is crazy Your whole perspective gets hazy Starts you asking a daisy “What to do, what to do?”
Have you ever felt a gentle touch and then a kiss? And then and then, find it’s only your imagination again? Oh, well…
It begins with a classic citrus burst of Calabrian bergamot that quickly gives way to a fizzy, slightly fruity concoction of black tea, ginger and neroli. Ambroxan gives it a lasting thread, wherein some spicy and woody notes intermingle, pulling out more of the tea and amber vibes. At three hours, it’s still quite close to its original incarnation, minus the glorious citrus. At eight hours, it’s still pleasantly vibing, sparkling on whatever lucky piece of clothing happened to pick some up.
Andy helped me make a wedding memory with some help from ‘Green Irish Tweed’ by Creed for our wedding day – fifteen years later, he helped conjure a new scent moment, and some new memories, coming tomorrow…
Imagination is silly You go around willy-nilly For example, I go around wanting you And yet I can’t imagine that you want me too
My niece and nephew tell me that for the younger set, Lady Gaga’s ‘Judas’ is the song to play. I’m still obsessed with ‘How Bad Do you Want Me?’ but I’m always here for a ‘Judas’ breakdown. It also fits in well with the Judas tree currently in bloom in our front yard.
The tree gets its common name form the flowers that bloom straight from the bark, as if the branches are covered in blood, like the tree Judas hung from – no one ever said gardening lore wasn’t dark and disturbing.
I couldn’t love a man so purely Even prophets forgave his goofy way I’ve learned love is like a brick, you can Build a house or sink a dead body
In the most Biblical sense, I am beyond repentance Fame hooker, prostitute, wench vomits her mind But in the cultural sense, I just speak in future tense Judas, kiss me if offensed, or wear ear condom next time
Are these the actual lyrics? Because I do hope they are – it’s too crazed and too good in the most awful way to be anything but true. Behold the bloom of the Judas tree.
Flowering trees dangle their ballerina-like blossoms in the sky, behind which a midnight blue firmament, studded with stars and the yellow road of the moon, provides a solid and simultaneously endless vista of space.
There is magic at work, and romance, and a feeling that manages to be both nostalgia and future hope at once.
You and the night and the music fill me with flaming desire Setting my being completely on fire…
You and the night and the music thrill me but will we be one After the night and the music are done?
The words to this song are wondrous, even if this is an instrumental version. Sentiment sometimes transcends words, and spring sprinkles its enchantment like petals plucked by the lightest breeze.
Until the pale light of dawning and daylight hearts will be throbbing guitars Morning may come without warning and take away the stars If we must live for the moment, love till the moment is through! After the night and the music die, will I have you?
Stars are tricky entities to capture in a photo, at least in my incapable hands and antiquated phone. Instead, I give you a sad approximation of the stars in the sky – always somehow more resplendent in person, when the night surrounds you, and the sound of a spring evening sets the heart to reminiscing. This song is a moody take on the starlit moment, courtesy of the brilliance that is Marianne Faithfull’s ‘A Secret Life’ album.
The stars line up The stars line up for me tonight The stars line up The stars line up tonight to see To see who we are, baby And write our names High up inside the sky
The majority of music there is aligned with fall memories, but for some reason this one speaks to me of later winter and spring, after we’ve made it through those dark early days of fall and winter. This one cracks the ice when its chords resolve in the midsection.
I lined them up for you The time is clear What else is there to do?
As if music could ever resolve the mysteries of starlight, as if starlight could ever illuminate the mysteries of the heart, as if the heart could ever give meaning to the stars… and on and on and on the fairy’s wing beats.
A Saturday night always glows more warmly in the mind when thought of on a Sunday night. Yesterday we had our first hint of summer, as temperatures soared, and a rainstorm washed away the dusty remnants of a sweaty afternoon spent mostly outside cleaning the yard. I managed to make some headway on the spring cleaning, which is good because we are behind on that front. Home ownership, blah, blah, blah.
By seven o’clock, the rainstorm arrived, and it was then that I began my daily meditation. I lit a few candles and watched the soft light against the darkening sky. Even as the rain fell, and the clouds swirled, the world looked blue from inside the living room.
A stormy night seems at odds with the song selection here, and that sort of contrast is life. It sets the mood, sparking a sort of aural light, burning like running water.