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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-10-14 01:15:07 -07:00
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writing/sonata/choir.html Normal file
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<!doctype html>
<html>
<head>
<title>Zk | choir</title>
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
<meta charset="utf-8" />
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<main>
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<h1>Zk | choir</h1>
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<article class="content">
<p>My dad played the saxophone through me.</p>
<p>My transition into owning myself was through the oboe.</p>
<p>Me coming into my own was through voice. After all, the oboe was rented, was it not? It was another thing that tied me to my parents, and I was hitting adolescence when one most acutely feels such things. My voice was my own and literally no one could take that from me.</p>
</article>
<footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-13</p>
</footer>
</main>
<script type="text/javascript">
document.querySelectorAll('.tag').forEach(tag => {
let text = tag.innerText;
tag.innerText = '';
tag.innerHTML = `<a href="/tags.html#${text}">${text}</a>`;
});
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<li class="done2"> <a href="love-to-tell-you.html">I would love to tell you&hellip;</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="love-to-tell-you.html">I would love to tell you&hellip;</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="office-supplies.html">I just love office supplies</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="office-supplies.html">I just love office supplies</a></li>
<li class="done2"> <a href="why-sax.html">Why am I playing saxophone?</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="why-sax.html">Why am I playing saxophone?</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="oboes.html">Oboes and ownership over one&rsquo;s own life</a></li> <li class="done2"> <a href="oboes.html">Oboes and ownership over one&rsquo;s own life</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="choir.html">Wow omigosh choir</a></li> <li class="done1"> <a href="choir.html">Wow omigosh choir</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="sibelius.html">And then my dad bought me Sibelius</a></li> <li class="done0"> <a href="sibelius.html">And then my dad bought me Sibelius</a></li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="music-ed.html">Music education is a cop-out</a></li> <li class="done0"> <a href="music-ed.html">Music education is a cop-out</a></li>
</ul> </ul>
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</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Development<ul> <li>Development<ul>
<li class="done0"> <a href="composing-while-walking.html">At some point I started composing while walking</a></li> <li>(some other stuff here)</li>
<li class="done0"> <a href="composing-while-walking.html">At some point I started composing while walking</a> (introducing akathisia)</li>
</ul> </ul>
</li> </li>
<li>Recapitulation</li> <li>Recapitulation</li>
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</ul> </ul>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-11</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-10-13</p>
</footer> </footer>
</main> </main>
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writing/sonata/oboes.html
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<p>I was never much good at the instrument, really.</p> <p>I was never much good at the instrument, really.</p>
<p>I loved the way it sounded almost painfully sweet in the higher registers, and how the lower register could get almost sultry. It was more versatile than the saxophone for a beginning player. Melismata and long notes were as easy as more staccato and jouncy passages. Which is to say, pretty difficult, in all, but somehow more attainable than the saxophone. With the sax, all that felt attainable was band music and jazz.</p> <p>I loved the way it sounded almost painfully sweet in the higher registers, and how the lower register could get almost sultry. It was more versatile than the saxophone for a beginning player. Melismata and long notes were as easy as more staccato and jouncy passages. Which is to say, pretty difficult, in all, but somehow more attainable than the saxophone. With the sax, all that felt attainable was band music and jazz.</p>
<p>And it&rsquo;s weird, I picked up that instrument and shortly thereafter started to take control over other aspects of my life. Like, I&rsquo;m sure that that&rsquo;s an instance of correlation-not-causation going on right there, but at the same time, it&rsquo;s weird that picking up the oboe and putting down the sax feels like this weird liminal period between who I was and who I am. It was the step between saxophone and choir, and thus the step between childhood and adolescence.</p> <p>And it&rsquo;s weird, I picked up that instrument and shortly thereafter started to take control over other aspects of my life. Like, I&rsquo;m sure that that&rsquo;s an instance of correlation-not-causation going on right there, but at the same time, it&rsquo;s weird that picking up the oboe and putting down the sax feels like this weird liminal period between who I was and who I am. It was the step between saxophone and choir, and thus the step between childhood and adolescence.</p>
<p>I remember the vague confusion that came with the switch, a sense of, not anger, but a subtle sense of disappointment that I didn&rsquo;t go on to master the saxophone or something else.</p>
<p>Why oboe? So expensive. We&rsquo;ll have to rent. And those reeds, ten dollars a pop at the low end. You could get a box of saxophone reeds for that much. And it sounds like a dying duck when you start, it&rsquo;ll take forever for you to get any good.</p>
<p>I stuck to my guns, such as they were. I suppose I must have, I mean, as I don&rsquo;t remember that much about it. I started playing the oboe in fifth or sixth grade and continued on through the end of middle school. Or maybe part way through middle school; I moved schools in there and I don&rsquo;t remember if I was still in band at that point.</p>
<p>But I loved it, in my own way. I owned it. The instrument was rented, of course, but I owned the fact that I had decided on it. It was expensive, with the reeds and the lessons and everything, but it was mine.</p>
<p>The love was mine. The frustrations were mine. I once snapped a reed at the top of the staple &mdash; the metal tube onto which the actual reed is mounted &mdash; out of anger at my, yes, lack of immediate progress, but my teacher collected my staples to make her own reeds to sell back to her students at a discount over the stores.</p>
<p>The love was mine. The frustrations were mine. They were almost of a necessity mine to enjoy on my own. My parents didn&rsquo;t enjoy it. I don&rsquo;t know whether my band conductors enjoyed it. I certainly never got very good at it, but I was happy to be bad at something I had picked out for myself.</p>
</article> </article>
<footer> <footer>
<p>Page generated on 2020-10-13</p> <p>Page generated on 2020-10-13</p>