reverie of a single soul

🔮 september 17, 2020: Tchaikovsky, the far future, and utopia 🔮

It had been a big day that day. 196 days into the pandemic, I finally decided to pick up my violin again.

(Well, actually, it was a couple days before then.)

The orchestra—ahem, my saving grace for practically every Sunday—had finished its holiday concert back in December of 2019. The blue fiberglass case had remained in the closet across my desk since then.

Nine months later, I got motivated to learn the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, Movement 2.

Why movement 2, if I preferred the "flashier", more exuberant pieces of movements 1 and 3? Because I was more comfortable playing slower movements right off the bat after three-quarters of a year of letting my sightreading skills atrophy.

(Also, the first and third movements are insanely hard. Light, bouncy double stops while keeping your bow somewhat close to the frog, with constant string crossings, without making a crunching noise because that part of the bow has more weight, and you're the only one playing in the entire orchestra and that'll project on its own if you have a good instrument—trying to make the passage of the orchestra and you as the soloist sound like a very rapid conversation? Nice to listen to, hard on my fingers.)

So! The second movement was good to play. But there's the octave shifts near the end, jumping two B-flats in a single run... my god... my wrist... ahhhh... And you have to make it sound

really

really

sad.

Like Tchaikovsky was crying. (Well, he probably was—the entire piece as the soloist shifts higher and higher just sounds like...)

If you listen to Janine Jansen's interpretation of the 1st movement, you'll know exactly what I mean.

You have to pull the feeling out, you have to let it flow, do not let any part sound crunchy, this is a cadenza, coax it out in the beginning and then just let it flow. You've seen the soloist's faces while they play this piece. They adopt the emotions that the piece is conveying.

Anyway. Got carried away there.

In this entry, I also thought about what would happen if aliens found this journal, long after I'm gone. Kinda hearkening back to the first chapter of this book. I was rereading it, and I put in some of my own thoughts from the present day, closed off by square brackets [ ].

Oh boy, it was a long one.

Here's the entry.

What would a utopia look like? Really, though.

Would it be equal pay?

Would it be privately-owned mental health clinics catered specifically towards each person's needs?

Would it be the complete eradication of the pandemic?

Would it be stress levels only reaching to a 5 maximum, no matter the situation?

Would it be walking on air, experiencing the world from new heights?

Would it be sunsets seen from a hilltop, the air smelling sweet and perfect, the golden light nearly blinding you, digging your palms into the grassy earth as you lock fingers with your lover?

Would it be a good, solid hug?

Would it be real, true empathy? Fearless empathy?

Will we finally be able to understand each other?

How do we...

How do we get there?

...will we ever?

(I hope so. The murderers of Ahmaud Arbery were convicted, getting life in prison stacked on top of their previous life sentence without parole, I think.)

(About fucking time.)