After a fermata on a rest from teaching music, I am returning to the vocation.
I know. I was surprised myself.
It was all very unexpected. I think I made it pretty clear to many that I shouldn't be doing this anytime soon. But there was this open door, which aroused my curiosity the moment I chanced upon it. (Or, did it, by God's divine appointment, chance upon me?) I don't know what made me do it... but I took a step of faith, entered the world I had almost sworn never to re-enter since I left... and that world, where the musical I was born and bred at least for the first 11 years, it rejoiced to take me back in.
Until now, I still don't know if I should returned. I've heard enough about the systems, its weaknesses, and its falling out of favour with the conventional crowd. But honestly, it did feel a bit like homecoming. Perhaps, then, I should give it a second chance. I would also like to believe that there are two sides to every coin. After all, music is music. As long as one strives to respect its history and classical traditions while making it tastefully relevant to the rapidly evolving conventions of today, I don't think there is a "right world" for it to flourish. Rather, we can make our respective worlds, wherever we are, the right worlds for music to thrive and inspire, teach and nurture, sow and reap. With the maturity I (hopefully) gained in the past 17 years of exploring foreign worlds, I look forward to learn, teach, and resume the journey back here. I thank God for making everything fall into place so frightfully well.
Having said that, the new season implies a lot more work than my previous stint. Exams to sit for. Priorities to juggle. Working on weekends. Plans to rethink. Please, if you will, pray with me. I worry too much. I worry myself.
Showing posts with label Good music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Good music. Show all posts
Tuesday, 3 May 2016
Monday, 24 August 2015
Non, je ne regrette rien (No, I regret nothing) ~ Of pity parties, puke and prayer
This French piece by Charles Dumont is graced by his friend, Michel Vaucaire, with the words of a most devoted, unflinching, broken but unbroken lover.
You can read more about the song here.
I got acquainted with the song some years back, when it was featured in one of the heart-rending films that I was so engrossed in then. (I guess I won't name it here.) Non, je ne regrette rien returns to play in my head once in a while, whenever I start to feel sorry for myself in one way or another. And my pity parties bore and vex my guests to death.
It has been playing on and off the past few days.
Yesterday, it played while I was trying to get my co-sleeping toddler to fall asleep. She had spent the past hour trying to climb onto our bed's headboard and emulate Nadia Comaneci on the balance beam in 1976. Whenever I removed her from her hold, she would balk and protest, like I was the world's meanest spectator. Subsequently, she would try to mount the headboard again. (Of note, I don't know why toddlers misbehave when they go past their bedtime - we were out late last night.) This went on and on and on until the exhausted toddler, suddenly burst into tears and threw up violently on our bed. We consoled her, cleaned us up, and then Ben put her to bed instead of me. This time, she fell asleep almost immediately. I should have been thankful and relieved, and I think I was to a certain extent, but I was also upset.
First, it was slightly past midnight. I hadn't showered, there was church the next morning, and my side of the bed smelled faintly of puke even after cleaning.
Secondly, I was very embarrassed (and resentful that I felt that way). What would my in-laws think of me? Some useless, half-baked, idiotic mother, incapable of controlling her kid. She should have known better. Why let the kid climb onto the headboard? Oh, and our poor, precious grand-daughter cried till she puked. The end. That was, I believe, my low self-esteem.
Thirdly, I resented my husband for reaping what I had sown. Haha. I didn't like him looking so happy and triumphant tucking a sleeping Sophie into bed. There I was, smelling of puke and sweat. He should have shared my sufferings a little more. (To be fair, he did enter the room while I was wrestling with the little gymnast to see if I needed help - but I was too proud to let him, and shooed him out.)
It was very personal. I showered with hot tears streaming down my face. Felt like a failure. And then, I felt even more horrible for doubting that God had heard my cries for help throughout the entire ordeal. Confessing that I had probably not reacted well to the incident, I prayed that He would give me sign that He was still near.
He graciously did.
It was Day 2 of Sophie's current episode of running nose. Running nose always means nasal congestion at night and sleep disturbances for our little girl - at least for a bad few nights, up to a week.
I prayed that He would keep her nasal passages unblocked throughout the night so that she (and we) could sleep well. He did! And her nose hardly ran today. It is only Day 3. What a miracle!
The things He shows us when we ask, even with faith as small as a mustard seed.
Today, I put Sophie to bed feeling extra thankful that I could be there with her when she needed me - even when she struggled to fall asleep. (I think somebody ought to do something about our balance-beam-like headboard though.) She won't stay a toddler forever. This season will pass. I hope that Non, je ne regrette rien will evoke heaps of feel-good nolstalgia when I look back on today in the future.
Still loving you, Sophie. If I could choose again, I would still choose you.
And I'm not giving up.
You can read more about the song here.
I got acquainted with the song some years back, when it was featured in one of the heart-rending films that I was so engrossed in then. (I guess I won't name it here.) Non, je ne regrette rien returns to play in my head once in a while, whenever I start to feel sorry for myself in one way or another. And my pity parties bore and vex my guests to death.
It has been playing on and off the past few days.
Yesterday, it played while I was trying to get my co-sleeping toddler to fall asleep. She had spent the past hour trying to climb onto our bed's headboard and emulate Nadia Comaneci on the balance beam in 1976. Whenever I removed her from her hold, she would balk and protest, like I was the world's meanest spectator. Subsequently, she would try to mount the headboard again. (Of note, I don't know why toddlers misbehave when they go past their bedtime - we were out late last night.) This went on and on and on until the exhausted toddler, suddenly burst into tears and threw up violently on our bed. We consoled her, cleaned us up, and then Ben put her to bed instead of me. This time, she fell asleep almost immediately. I should have been thankful and relieved, and I think I was to a certain extent, but I was also upset.
First, it was slightly past midnight. I hadn't showered, there was church the next morning, and my side of the bed smelled faintly of puke even after cleaning.
Secondly, I was very embarrassed (and resentful that I felt that way). What would my in-laws think of me? Some useless, half-baked, idiotic mother, incapable of controlling her kid. She should have known better. Why let the kid climb onto the headboard? Oh, and our poor, precious grand-daughter cried till she puked. The end. That was, I believe, my low self-esteem.
Thirdly, I resented my husband for reaping what I had sown. Haha. I didn't like him looking so happy and triumphant tucking a sleeping Sophie into bed. There I was, smelling of puke and sweat. He should have shared my sufferings a little more. (To be fair, he did enter the room while I was wrestling with the little gymnast to see if I needed help - but I was too proud to let him, and shooed him out.)
It was very personal. I showered with hot tears streaming down my face. Felt like a failure. And then, I felt even more horrible for doubting that God had heard my cries for help throughout the entire ordeal. Confessing that I had probably not reacted well to the incident, I prayed that He would give me sign that He was still near.
He graciously did.
It was Day 2 of Sophie's current episode of running nose. Running nose always means nasal congestion at night and sleep disturbances for our little girl - at least for a bad few nights, up to a week.
I prayed that He would keep her nasal passages unblocked throughout the night so that she (and we) could sleep well. He did! And her nose hardly ran today. It is only Day 3. What a miracle!
The things He shows us when we ask, even with faith as small as a mustard seed.
Today, I put Sophie to bed feeling extra thankful that I could be there with her when she needed me - even when she struggled to fall asleep. (I think somebody ought to do something about our balance-beam-like headboard though.) She won't stay a toddler forever. This season will pass. I hope that Non, je ne regrette rien will evoke heaps of feel-good nolstalgia when I look back on today in the future.
Still loving you, Sophie. If I could choose again, I would still choose you.
And I'm not giving up.
Friday, 21 August 2015
Bach - Violin Concerto No. 2 in E Major, BWV 1042
This brings back so many memories. Why I began listening to Bach (more seriously) some years back - theological and personal reasons. Events. People. Places, etc.
Just watched a YouTube video of a performance of Bach's violin concerto no. 2 by the New York Classical Players featuring young Siwoo Kim on the violin. While it is a little faster than what I am used to, I found it very warm and uplifting (and Kim is brilliant).
I could have cried during the second movement i.e. Adagio.
Anyway, thought I would share it here. Blessed Friday, folks!
Wednesday, 12 August 2015
Hector Berlioz
I am currently exploring his musical compositions.
Reading his biography today made me a little sad.
While the 19th century French Romantic composer was a significant figure in music history as well as a witty writer/musical critic in his time, his personal life seemed to be a series of disasters especially in the area of romantic love and marriage.
In old age, he finally wrote:
I am in my 61st year; past hopes, past illusions, past high thoughts and lofty conceptions. My son is almost always far away from me. I am alone. My contempt for the folly and baseness of mankind, my hatred of its atrocious cruelty, have never been so intense. And I say hourly to Death: 'When you will'. Why does he delay?
Speaking of which: Unrequited love and its longings for a love story that was not meant to be. Why does it have to be so cruel?
Reading his biography today made me a little sad.
While the 19th century French Romantic composer was a significant figure in music history as well as a witty writer/musical critic in his time, his personal life seemed to be a series of disasters especially in the area of romantic love and marriage.
In old age, he finally wrote:
I am in my 61st year; past hopes, past illusions, past high thoughts and lofty conceptions. My son is almost always far away from me. I am alone. My contempt for the folly and baseness of mankind, my hatred of its atrocious cruelty, have never been so intense. And I say hourly to Death: 'When you will'. Why does he delay?
Speaking of which: Unrequited love and its longings for a love story that was not meant to be. Why does it have to be so cruel?
Wednesday, 30 October 2013
Muse: Fragile Dreams
Read almost the entire story of Joseph (in Book of Genesis) in one seating today.
I was captivated afresh by the tale of a man whose life painted a portrait of God's sovereignty. Joseph's life often spoke to me on waiting faithfully when time seems to draw to a painful standstill - and it still does in many ways. However, our focus shouldn't be merely Joseph, but ultimately... God. We see how determined Joseph's acknowledgement was toward the end: "It was God who sent me..." (Gen 45:5,7,8) and as for his well-known speech to his fearful brothers in Genesis 50, he stressed that God's purposes could never be thwarted (Gen 50:20). God who called Joseph as a dreamy boy had orchestrated the events of his youth and later, of adulthood - that his brothers' pit of revenge, Potiphar, prison and Pharaoh were paved into footsteps which led Joseph well into the centre of God's purpose... and thus, his destiny. Joseph walked with God - and he was certainly faithful. But more importantly, God walked with Joseph, and He was sovereign. No, not only sovereign but also good and gracious. Wherever Joseph ended up or whatever he put his hand to do, God blessed Him - and such blessings overflowed to even his captors, Egyptian authorities, Egypt and last but not least, Joseph's very own brothers who had wronged him. There was also forgiveness for the brothers on Joseph's part - but it was ultimately God's forgiveness for those who had unknowingly opposed His plans, as it was for the Apostle Paul in the New Testament. I love the fact they were comforted in the end (Gen 50:21) - not merely by Joseph's kindness but God's, because God was behind it all.
Indeed, God makes all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose (Rom 8:28).
We dream fragile dreams. Dreams that are easily threatened, shattered or put to death.
But I desire to dream God's dreams for the Kingdom... because, regardless of how fragile they may be, God will yet bring such dreams to pass. I would dearly love to taste the sweetness of a fragile dream come true. And as much as I wish that my self-centred dreams would materialise (haha), I know that a good dream is all about God. A good dream anticipates God's glory.
So let me dream good dreams, God.
Here's Hisaishi's poignant piece - Fragile Dream - for your listening pleasure.
I was captivated afresh by the tale of a man whose life painted a portrait of God's sovereignty. Joseph's life often spoke to me on waiting faithfully when time seems to draw to a painful standstill - and it still does in many ways. However, our focus shouldn't be merely Joseph, but ultimately... God. We see how determined Joseph's acknowledgement was toward the end: "It was God who sent me..." (Gen 45:5,7,8) and as for his well-known speech to his fearful brothers in Genesis 50, he stressed that God's purposes could never be thwarted (Gen 50:20). God who called Joseph as a dreamy boy had orchestrated the events of his youth and later, of adulthood - that his brothers' pit of revenge, Potiphar, prison and Pharaoh were paved into footsteps which led Joseph well into the centre of God's purpose... and thus, his destiny. Joseph walked with God - and he was certainly faithful. But more importantly, God walked with Joseph, and He was sovereign. No, not only sovereign but also good and gracious. Wherever Joseph ended up or whatever he put his hand to do, God blessed Him - and such blessings overflowed to even his captors, Egyptian authorities, Egypt and last but not least, Joseph's very own brothers who had wronged him. There was also forgiveness for the brothers on Joseph's part - but it was ultimately God's forgiveness for those who had unknowingly opposed His plans, as it was for the Apostle Paul in the New Testament. I love the fact they were comforted in the end (Gen 50:21) - not merely by Joseph's kindness but God's, because God was behind it all.
Indeed, God makes all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose (Rom 8:28).
We dream fragile dreams. Dreams that are easily threatened, shattered or put to death.
But I desire to dream God's dreams for the Kingdom... because, regardless of how fragile they may be, God will yet bring such dreams to pass. I would dearly love to taste the sweetness of a fragile dream come true. And as much as I wish that my self-centred dreams would materialise (haha), I know that a good dream is all about God. A good dream anticipates God's glory.
So let me dream good dreams, God.
Here's Hisaishi's poignant piece - Fragile Dream - for your listening pleasure.
Monday, 7 October 2013
Taste and see
Was listening to one of Israel Houghton's songs (which I've always appreciated for their artistry, rhythm, enthusiasm, and simple but meaningful phrases) - and was blown away by the impact of the words of its bridge.
"...You'll never know 'til you try.
You'll never live 'till you die to yourself
and find for yourself that He's good.
You'll never see with your eyes,
until your heart realises that He is all that you need;
"...You'll never know 'til you try.
You'll never live 'till you die to yourself
and find for yourself that He's good.
You'll never see with your eyes,
until your heart realises that He is all that you need;
Saturday, 5 October 2013
Short muse: hymns
Back from a long and strenuous choir rehearsal for next week's Sacred Music Festival choir. Please do come if you are free on Saturday, the 12th of October, 8pm. The choir and orchestra will perform at the Penang Tunku Abdul Rahman College Auditorium. Tickets cost RM20 each.
Physically exhausted, I am... but strangely, I feel so recharged emotionally, mentally and spiritually from working hard with the rest of the choir on hymns. Doing the "amens" on forte at the finale brought tears to my eyes (even though it's just a rehearsal), because it hit me that we were, as a choir, putting our trust and hope in God... that the words we've sung throughout the whole repertoire of hymns would bring our audience to savour His glory and grace.
Hymns. So oversung (or badly sung - pardon my blunt) in many of our churches that some people just sing them for the sake of liturgy without giving attention to what the words really mean... or they sing it because it gives them a sense of familiarity of the good old days. It is no wonder that the hymns have fallen out of favour with the younger generations. I have nothing against contemporary worship music. (I often use contemporary songs in my worship-leading... drums, bass, acoustic guitar and all.) Nevertheless, hymns are such treasures that it would be a tragic loss if we didn't teach our children (and younger Christians) to appreciate them - the beautiful poetry, their composers, the story behind the compositions, the themes, the parts of Scripture that they point us to so skillfully, the meaningful prayers they encapsulate, the beauty of voicing out those prayers/praises as a congregation, etc. Or worse still, we stop appreciating them ourselves.
Hymns are not only for those who qualify as our uncles, aunties, daddies, mommies, grandmas, grandpas, etc. Hymns can certainly make a difference in the lives of younger people too.
As for myself, I only grew to appreciate hymns during my time at PMC... thanks to a brother and friend who was so very adamant that I should get to know them. (He was a very compelling teacher of the hymns too!) And indeed, the hymns have enriched my walk with God in many ways. I admit that sometimes, when the tune of a hymn is not my cup of tea (me being me), I read the words out loud instead of singing them like the rest of the congregation, haha. Well, at least there is still some sense of being one with everybody, yes?
Thought I'd end with the first stanza of a hymn that I found especially meaningful today ~ "Dear Lord and Father of Mankind" by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892):
"Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
forgive our foolish ways;
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives Thy service find,
in deeper rev'rence,
praise."
Physically exhausted, I am... but strangely, I feel so recharged emotionally, mentally and spiritually from working hard with the rest of the choir on hymns. Doing the "amens" on forte at the finale brought tears to my eyes (even though it's just a rehearsal), because it hit me that we were, as a choir, putting our trust and hope in God... that the words we've sung throughout the whole repertoire of hymns would bring our audience to savour His glory and grace.
Hymns. So oversung (or badly sung - pardon my blunt) in many of our churches that some people just sing them for the sake of liturgy without giving attention to what the words really mean... or they sing it because it gives them a sense of familiarity of the good old days. It is no wonder that the hymns have fallen out of favour with the younger generations. I have nothing against contemporary worship music. (I often use contemporary songs in my worship-leading... drums, bass, acoustic guitar and all.) Nevertheless, hymns are such treasures that it would be a tragic loss if we didn't teach our children (and younger Christians) to appreciate them - the beautiful poetry, their composers, the story behind the compositions, the themes, the parts of Scripture that they point us to so skillfully, the meaningful prayers they encapsulate, the beauty of voicing out those prayers/praises as a congregation, etc. Or worse still, we stop appreciating them ourselves.
Hymns are not only for those who qualify as our uncles, aunties, daddies, mommies, grandmas, grandpas, etc. Hymns can certainly make a difference in the lives of younger people too.
As for myself, I only grew to appreciate hymns during my time at PMC... thanks to a brother and friend who was so very adamant that I should get to know them. (He was a very compelling teacher of the hymns too!) And indeed, the hymns have enriched my walk with God in many ways. I admit that sometimes, when the tune of a hymn is not my cup of tea (me being me), I read the words out loud instead of singing them like the rest of the congregation, haha. Well, at least there is still some sense of being one with everybody, yes?
Thought I'd end with the first stanza of a hymn that I found especially meaningful today ~ "Dear Lord and Father of Mankind" by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892):
"Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
forgive our foolish ways;
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives Thy service find,
in deeper rev'rence,
praise."
Friday, 16 August 2013
TGIF: a coffee cantata for both coffee ADDICTS and NAYSAYERS
 |
| TGIF! |
It tells of a coffee addiction to which some of us can relate. Bach was apparently a coffee-lover himself ~ he probably wrote the cantata to lampoon and poke fun at the coffee naysayers in Leipzig, approximately between 1732-34, who were convinced that coffee was some kind of hellish brew and all. It does remind me of a time in my life when I used to stick notes on my housemates' coffee tins that read "radioactives" - so very vehemently too. Who knew, at that time, that I would eventually end up a convert? Thanks to medical school and my constant sleep deprivation, I had to turn to coffee to make things more bearable. I've been a goner ever since. Fortunately or unfortunately. Oh well, thankfully I still love tea enough not to go overboard with my coffee affairs.
You can read more about the cantata here and here.
Here are the English translations. The composer of the libretto (Christian Friedrich Henrici) certainly knew how to have fun! The conversation between Schlendrian (the father) and Lieschen (his daughter) kept me grinning and giggling. Probably because I could relate to both.
You can watch the cantata here:
Enjoy!
Have a great weekend, readers ~ family, friends, prayer warriors and partners-in-ministry.
Frank Sinatra's coffee song plays in the background ~ "They've got an awful lot of coffee in Brazil...." I've got to go.
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