WEEK OF 080929: MARK MCGUIRE // SCHUMANN
Mark McGuire: Light Movement
This week has become a monument in my life, and the music could not be more apt. It is simply a gracious coincidence that I selected this solo shimmering work of a member of Emeralds the day before I found out about the dismal murder of my friend, Kirsten Brydum. In the midst of my homelessness (and a small personal murder I've been enduring this past month), I was thrown even deeper into the strange conundrum of meaninglessness that our sliver of living holds. Rather than bash the world with my desperation, I was stilled and robbed of my emotions. This reverberating music filled me with wonder, as a salve. It bounces and reflects and builds and becomes complex. It gave me this strange feeling that even while I'm outside in the strange October hot Berkeley sun, I'm really still indoors; I feel now, every time I walk down Hearst's hill that there is a greater gate that leads out of this sphere, and the magic of being here is enveloped by rich images and their ability to inspire in the face of this meaninglessness. I am heartened by the curiousness of all the Earth's peculiar colors, and think that we must do our best to chase wonderment even if it never leads us to enlightenment. We must try, otherwise life is too mechanical. Kirsten's ideas will persist in this hearth, although she has certainly left the room.
Schumann: Cello Concerto in A Minor
I needn't say much about Schumann other than I have felt a great affinity for his confusion and worry and sadness and fear and trembling and occasional dashes of hope and grandeur, particularly his (failed) attempt to persevere.