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| Artwork by Jeanne Mitchell |
For those of you
who aren’t familiar with Sound Circle, it’s a 16-ish voice women’s a cappella ensemble, whose concerts I
never miss. I’ve written about them here many times (just do a search for
“Sound Circle” to see how many
times), partly because they’re such remarkable musicians and partly because I always
come away from their concerts with something itching in my mind, some morsel
that I take away and mull over for a while. This concert was no different.
As I awoke this
morning, and since, Appetite has been on my mind, new thoughts and associations
attaching themselves to last night’s performance. The concert was a mix of
music (with and without words), spoken word (including pieces by Sound Circle
members and by others), body percussion, and a smattering of instrumental accompaniment
(cello, guitar, percussion, and some amazing bellows-driven keyboard—maybe a
harmonium?). It morphed from lively and robust to smooth and soft, from joyful
to aching. And overall, it bore the tension between appetite and letting go. The
risk of greed, the freedom to hope or strive, and the impermanence of life, of
everything.
This morning, I’m
recalling the cleverly arranged collective spoken word piece, written by a
member of the chorus, “What do I want?”—which toys with that question: “What DO I want?” “What do I want”; “What do I WANT?”; “What!? Do I want?” And that thought brings to mind
another piece called, simply, “Want,” one movement of a four-part work composed
by Carol Matthews, titled “Seeking Enough,” which was commissioned for this
concert and carries the theme of appetite through the performance. “Want” is a
wordless evocation of the sheer, deep sense of longing, the wish for ... something.
Something else, something more, something better, something missing. Appetite.
It’s the yearning that can drive us to amass “stuff,” only to realize that
nothing quite fills that hole. It lives in the urgency to gather power or
wealth, to do drugs or alcohol, to collect and discard relationships, to seek
the perfect body or hairdo, to wrestle for position or image. Always as if
something, something could make us
finally feel “fulfilled”—fully filled.
But the message of
the concert is far more complex than an admonition to stop with the obsessive wanting.
It’s also a gentle, even joyful celebration of the experience of wanting—of appetite
that propels us forward to self-expression and engagement in our lives. An improv/spoken
word piece by another chorus member, “My Best Me,” revels in her delight at
reaching, daring an edge, finding a voice, feeling alive through improv singing.
And another, also written by a chorus member (see what I mean about remarkable
musicians?), titled “Shine,” celebrates the many forms of feeling powerful and empowered,
of “shining” in ways that don’t involve the avarice and oppression that we
often associate with power. And then there’s the sort of appetite that invites
us to seek not stuff, but experiences. I was especially touched by a beautiful Mary
Oliver poem called “Bear.”
Bear
It’s not
my track,
I say,
seeing
the ball
of the foot and the wide heel
and the
naily, untrimmed
toes. And
I say again,
for
emphasis,
to no one
but myself, since no one is
with me.
This is
not my
track, and this is an extremely
large
foot, I wonder
how large
a body must be to make
such a
track, I am beginning to make
bad jokes.
I have read probably
a hundred
narratives where someone saw
just what
I am seeing. Various things
happened
next. A fairly long list, I won’t
go into
it. But not one of them told
what
happened next—I mean, before whatever happens—
how the
distances light up, how the clouds
are the
most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how
the wild
flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrance
different,
and sweeter than any you ever stood upon—how
every
leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.
- Mary Oliver
I’ve had that
experience, or one much like it. A moment when something happened out there in the
woods or the desert or the tundra, away from all the distractions and noise and
“shoulds,” when I just knew that I’d remember the details of the moment
forever. I want that. I’m glad I’ve
kept it, have collected such moments, hoarded them, even. Tucked away from the
everyday. And, for me, part of the beauty of this concert was the celebration
of that sort of wanting, the kind of appetite that gathers glorious
experiences, notices their impact on how we see the world and ourselves.
The concert then
invites exploration of this paradox: appetite run amok can be destructive, yet
appetite can also fuel inspired growth and expansive experiences. The contradiction
is all around us—it’s especially relevant to this season, when rabid commercialism
is daily juxtaposed with messages of giving and peace. But it’s also in our
everyday lives, as highlighted by another spoken word piece by two (different) chorus
members, “Spilt Milk Messages,” which plays with the mixture of admonitions and
exhortations young children hear every day, advice that is familiar enough to draw chuckles of recognition from the audience and contradictory enough that
the deeper message is crystal clear: we are taught from childhood both to want
and to definitely not want.
A resolution is offered,
too, not simple, but familiar: letting go. In fact, the last of the four
movements that make up the larger commissioned work is called “Letting Go.” The
message of impermanence, of appreciating abundance without being attached to it
is a core theme in Buddhist writings, and this concert clearly calls on this principle.
The program notes written by Carol Matthews close with this:
Lao Tsu says:
To know
enough’s enough
Is enough to
know.
Sound Circle will
perform “Appetite” again tonight (Saturday 12/13) and tomorrow (Sunday 12/14), and
then again on Sunday, January 11. You can get more information and purchase
tickets at the Sound Circle website.
I’ll be going back
for another taste in January, and I’m really looking forward to it. I
trust that this anticipation is a sign of appetite and not greed.
© Janis
Bohan, 2010-2014. Use of this content is welcome with attribution and a link to
the post.
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