Where words fail, music speaks ~ Hans Christian Anderson

The suggestion for today (or do I call it blog topic or writing prompt ) is what is  your secret or not so secret passion.

Oh dear. You know what you have to hear about now don’t you?

I’m so crazy about this thing, I’m temporarily changing my appearance for it. I’m so crazy about this thing that I’ve put quite a bit of money into it already. I’m so crazy about this thing that I’m taking my first overnight in YEARS away from my child (with my husband and two of our best friends). So crazy about this thing we’re driving several hours just to see it.

Them

Oh come on you know who I’m talking about.

 

I’m absolutely mad, just over the moon about this group. I’m learning the names of the members, the fact that they have different attractive female violinists (reminds me of Abney Park’s changing girl dancer/singers) and I’m not even buying the new CD, but waiting to get it when we go to Dallas in February to maybe get it at the concert.

 

What is it exactly about this wonderful music? It goes back a long way for me. My dad listened to swing music and sang some to me. I had a victrola in high school and collected records for it at garage sales (wonder if my mom still has that). As I got too long in the tooth to fully goth I drifted towards the swing revival in the 90s. I’ve loved old music for a long time. It speaks to the part of me that is romantic and not terribly rebellious (yes I DO have that side, small though it may be). The wanting to be beautifully coiffed and attired and genteel.

And the music just transports me.

 

I also have a fascination for all things German. I studied it for years in High School and College. While my grasp is now not so great, the more I listen, the more comes back. (Did I mention that I’ve posted on their website a few times and I’ve been responded to by the dashing Pianist, Ian Wekwerth—so they are not only talented but incredibly nice!).

It’s also that he is able to take some songs you really wouldn’t expect and make them sound SO MUCH better than they did or interpret them in such an unexpected way. For example, this song that until he did it, I couldn’t bear to listen to:

You might know that I cut off my rather long hair (past my collar bone) curly red hair in stages last summer. Until it was short and spikey. When I found out that Max Raabe and Palast Ochester were going to be close enough for us to see (which is in itself a miracle, because we moved from SF to Northwest Arkansas and let’s just say we don’t get the music here  that we’re accustomed to)—I started planning. I’m growing my hair into a weimar bob. I’ve got a very old very delicate real flapper evening gown and velvet elbow length gloves. I’ll put on a pair of small heels and walk carefully. Yes—there is quite a production going into this.

Why not? I’ve had a few folks giggle and shake their head at me, but why shouldn’t I be this way? Is it really that odd to go all in?

I look at the tickets on my bulletin board every day. I think my hair may be just long enough to do a marcel wave by February. After that I’ll probably cut it all off again, but until then I’m busy planning an amazing weekend with friends, out of town, dressed up fancy dinners and Palast Ochester.

 

 

 

And that music, that gorgeous, funny, amazing music that somehow makes me think maybe things might just get better. Or at least keeps me from brooding about the difficulties while I’m listening.