Silence: The Soundtrack
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December is STILL the month of the phonograph record. I made that up. But it is. I'll be observing it all month at my mog and I encourage you to observe it with me. For the original post declaring December the month of the phonograph record, click here. Join the conversation!
I can't stop listening to a record I bought three weeks ago for $6. It's Charlie Haden's 'Ballad of the Fallen'. The record is a seamless string of political ballads and anthems. There are no words, but each song is a story. There are stories about the Spanish Civil War. There are stories about the war in El Salvador.There is a mysterious core somewhere inside of me where music is felt absolutely. There is a composition on this album that drills directly to that core in just a few short seconds.The composition is called 'Silence'. Here's what Haden wrote in the liner notes:"Silence is the beginning and end of everything in life. This song was written with the thought that there are infinite possibilities for humankind contained within the brilliance of the universe."For almost every significant moment in my life I can remember sounds. I remember music, or traffic sounds, or footsteps, or rain...But for two of the most significant events of my life, my memory is mute. There is only silence.In April 2002 I was in the West Bank town of Jenin. I was there in the immediate aftermath of an Israeli Army attack that flattened hundreds of homes and killed dozens. With the city completely unravelled by weeks of violence, residents had to improvise. In the garden of a modest home, a hole was dug. Into that hole went the bodies. There were small bodies and there were large bodies. The smell of those bodies was a terrible smell. The bodies were covered in heavy blankets and they passed through the garden gate.As they passed through the garden gate, a man with a hospital mask and a large bottle of cologne sprinkled the dead on their way to their garden grave - a mass grave.Children stood silently and watched. Even as I grasp for the moment's every detail, I hear no sound. It is a jarring contrast, but the other significant experience was the birth of my son eight months ago. Here again, my memory is muted - silence. When people ask about the birth, I waste no time in telling them "I pulled him out myself!"It's true. And he was warm and wet and impossibly tender when I grasped him underneath his arms - my fingers overlapping on his tiny chest. He was crying...that sweet, sweet cry. I placed him clumsily on my wife Laurel's stomach and then helped him to her breast. One eye opened and he looked right at me. And even as I grasp for the moment's every detail, there is no sound. Silence.Listening to Haden's 'Silence', I imagine both scenes over and over again and I realize something remarkable: his composition - his silence - is a perfect soundtrack to my muted memory of these two incredible events."Silence is the beginning and the end of everything in life." "There are infinite possibilities for humankind."Listen to 'Silence' here.Listen to a phone call from Jenin here.
I can't stop listening to a record I bought three weeks ago for $6. It's Charlie Haden's 'Ballad of the Fallen'. The record is a seamless string of political ballads and anthems. There are no words, but each song is a story. There are stories about the Spanish Civil War. There are stories about the war in El Salvador.There is a mysterious core somewhere inside of me where music is felt absolutely. There is a composition on this album that drills directly to that core in just a few short seconds.The composition is called 'Silence'. Here's what Haden wrote in the liner notes:"Silence is the beginning and end of everything in life. This song was written with the thought that there are infinite possibilities for humankind contained within the brilliance of the universe."For almost every significant moment in my life I can remember sounds. I remember music, or traffic sounds, or footsteps, or rain...But for two of the most significant events of my life, my memory is mute. There is only silence.In April 2002 I was in the West Bank town of Jenin. I was there in the immediate aftermath of an Israeli Army attack that flattened hundreds of homes and killed dozens. With the city completely unravelled by weeks of violence, residents had to improvise. In the garden of a modest home, a hole was dug. Into that hole went the bodies. There were small bodies and there were large bodies. The smell of those bodies was a terrible smell. The bodies were covered in heavy blankets and they passed through the garden gate.As they passed through the garden gate, a man with a hospital mask and a large bottle of cologne sprinkled the dead on their way to their garden grave - a mass grave.Children stood silently and watched. Even as I grasp for the moment's every detail, I hear no sound. It is a jarring contrast, but the other significant experience was the birth of my son eight months ago. Here again, my memory is muted - silence. When people ask about the birth, I waste no time in telling them "I pulled him out myself!"It's true. And he was warm and wet and impossibly tender when I grasped him underneath his arms - my fingers overlapping on his tiny chest. He was crying...that sweet, sweet cry. I placed him clumsily on my wife Laurel's stomach and then helped him to her breast. One eye opened and he looked right at me. And even as I grasp for the moment's every detail, there is no sound. Silence.Listening to Haden's 'Silence', I imagine both scenes over and over again and I realize something remarkable: his composition - his silence - is a perfect soundtrack to my muted memory of these two incredible events."Silence is the beginning and the end of everything in life." "There are infinite possibilities for humankind."Listen to 'Silence' here.Listen to a phone call from Jenin here.
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