Appetite

                               Artwork by Jeanne Mitchell

Last night, we went to the Sound Circle concert, “Appetite.” As soon as we got home, we bought tickets for the January edition of the same concert. If you’ll be anywhere near Boulder for the show tonight (12/13, if  it's not too late), tomorrow (12/14), or January 11, I encourage you to go. 

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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Leonard Cohen, a thousand kisses deep

Saturday night, we went to hear Leonard Cohen in concert. I was about halfway excited and about equally wishing we weren’t going … an un-frantic end to the day sounded pretty nice. But we’d had tickets for months, and although we always see tickets as an opportunity and not an obligation, Cohen is getting up there in years, we both like his music and neither of us had ever seen him live, and it was right down the road. So off we went.

Little did we expect that it would be nearly four hours after the concert started before it ended. True, Cohen and his friends had initially left the stage about 10:30—already a longish concert. But they came back for an encore … and another … and another … and yet another. I usually think an encore is really just the tail end of the planned concert. But four of them?

My usual endurance level for concerts is right at two hours. By then, I’m ready for it to be over. I once sat through a delightfully timeless four-hour birthday concert for Pete Seeger in NYC, where my partner had taken me for my b-day. But that event featured many, many artists, lots of them personal favorites. The one last night, on the other hand, was virtually all one guy, with the help of his sidekicks. Actually, he featured all of his band members and back-up singers at various times. And well he should—they were all outstanding musicians. They were also a strikingly international group—Spain, England, Mexico, and Moldova, were represented (as well as the Republic of Texas.) Anyhow, they were great and he was amazing.

I’ve always appreciated Cohen’s music and his song-writing—how could you not like “Suzanne” and “Hallelujah” (the latter especially as sung by k.d.lang). But I had no idea I would be so entranced that I’d happily listen to four hours of his mellow, deep-voiced, often somber, almost always philosophical music. I really didn’t want it to end. Besides, watching him is almost as engaging as listening. He began many (most?) songs by falling to his knees, from which he rose effortlessly with nary a hand on the floor for a boost. Whether on his knees or standing, he virtually always sang with his head lowered and his shoulders rounded, his left hand cupping his mouth and the microphone. He wrapped his body around his music as if he were guarding it. My partner likened his posture to Kokopelli, and it fits.

I could say so much (did I mention it was four hours long?), but I want to talk about two things … two very different elements of this program that I found especially nice. The first was his frequent references to aging. He sang about aging in what seemed to me a really lovely way, not tragic or morose, not superficial or trivializing. Like you might describe an evening. His music seemed to comment on his aging as an interesting element of his life. Inevitable, present, sometimes getting in the way or disappointing, but never to be mourned or resisted. My partner thought he might be Buddhist, which would explain this attitude: death is simply part of the cycle of life, all things are impermanent, attachment causes suffering. Sure enough, I learned, he is a Buddhist monk. He is also a practicing Jew, and his music is full of Christian symbolism. Although that seems complicated, it also feels completely compatible with his deeply philosophical lyrics.

Back to aging ...

Several of his references to aging were sort of in passing—a line in one song about “this old man’s face,” another about “now I hurt in the places where I used to play.” But the song that really captured my attention was “A Thousand Kisses Deep,” which I had never listened to carefully before. I searched for the piece online and learned that it was initially published as a poem. He has performed it both as a song and in spoken-word form countless times over many years. And there may be as many versions as there have been performances. Folks who follow these things have explored the question of which is the “real” song and why he's created so many variations of it. But I figure a person can have as many versions as s/he wants of a song s/he wrote (and apparently keeps on writing). It's actually interesting to hear some of these—some are strikingly different from others, whereas some variations are rearrangements of lyrics seen in other versions. For a taste, you can read two very different sets of lyrics here and here. Better yet, you can listen to a fairly recent sung version of “A Thousand Kisses Deep” and also a recent spoken version. Then, if your curiosity is still curious, as mine was, finish up with an older spoken version (as a bonus, if you click on “show more” beneath this last video, you’ll see yet a third set of lyrics).

But the point I want to make is not about the fluidity of the lyrics but about the message this song carried, at least for me. Of course, I have no idea what Cohen actually meant to convey with this poem/song—and his meaning very likely changes along with the lyrics. But to me, at least on this particular evening and in the context of his other references to his aging, it sounded like a love song to life. Sung by a man who is growing old (78) and has had a rich, if not always smooth, life. By someone who regards aging as simply a reality. Someone who sees life as a lover with whom you speak gently and make love but to whom you don’t cling, as a lover whose passing is marked and whose departure is expected and even accepted—not sought, but also not resisted or dreaded. And if that doesn't sound Buddhist, I'm missing something.

    

If I were a psychologist for real, I might think that this is all projection—that I’m hearing in Cohen’s lyrics the song I’d like to (be able to) write to my life. But see what you think. Here are some of the lines that sound to me like an ode to life, recited from its waning years. These are excerpts from various versions of the song/poem. Most were in the version we heard the other night—not necessarily in this order. You can hear them all in his voice through the videos linked above.

Excerpts from (various versions of) “A Thousand Kisses Deep”

by Leonard Cohen

My mirrored twin, my next of kin    I’d know you in my sleep   And who but you would take me in   A thousand kisses deep   I’m just another snowman   Standing in the rain and sleet   Who loved you with his frozen love   His second hand physique   With all he is, and all he was   A thousand kisses deep   I hear their voices in the wine   That sometimes did me seek   The band is playing Auld Lang Syne   But the heart will not retreat   There's no forsaking what you love   No existential leap   As witnessed here in time and blood   A thousand kisses deep   The autumn moved across your skin   Got something in my eye   A light that doesn’t need to live   And doesn’t need to die   A riddle in the book of love   Obscure and obsolete   Until witnessed here in time and blood   A thousand kisses deep       The ponies run, the girls are young,     The odds are there to beat.     You win a while, and then it’s done –     Your little winning streak.     And summoned now to deal     With your invincible defeat,     You live your life as if it’s real,     A thousand kisses deep.     Don’t matter if the road is long     Don’t matter if it’s steep     Don’t matter if the moon goes out     And the darkness is complete     Don’t matter if we lose our way     It’s written that we’ll meet     At least that’s what I heard you say     A thousand kisses deep     We’ll that’s my story …     … all the twisted pieces fit     A thousand kisses deep

So that was my personal existential leap this weekend

And on a totally different topic …

Another thing I loved about the concert was the visual artistry of the lighting. We were sitting close enough to the stage that I was trying to catch some pictures of the concert. But soon, I felt like I was in a sunset-picture moment … you know, when each moment is more brilliant than the last, so you just keep snapping away. I gathered a slew of these pictures into a sort of rainbow so you can see how visually wonderful it was.

   

                                 

                       

        

A shot of the screen almost directly above us

 

                                                             

                         

  

 

                                                                        

  

           

And then he left ... over and over, the stage still changing color. Sort of like the song.