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Myles' Musical Musings (#4): A question of joy & grief

Writer's picture: Myles TyrrellMyles Tyrrell

As an organist, I am often witness to the happiest and saddest days of people's life. Being able to share in their joy, or grief, is such a high honour, and has to be approached in equal measures of respect, empathy, and understanding. I've been pondering this of late, thinking back on the hundreds of weddings, funerals, celebrations of life, renewal of vows and other special events I've played for.


As anyone who has ever experienced either event (either directly or as a guest) can surely understand, none of these events is never so dichotomous in character as purely 'happy' or 'sad', but beautifully nuanced.


With a funeral, sometimes, they are sudden, without any warning; and sometimes they are events that we see coming for some time. There is always such a wide spectrum of emotions. Anger, shock, relief, guilt, confusion, to mention a few. Between hymns, I hear memories from the family, that brief snapshot into this stranger's life, with humorous stories, or their life achievements, or their quirks that only a few got to see; to get to know this person and all the wonderful intricacies of their life, and yet this is now just a memory. But this is just a life of billions, all having their own trials, joys, and tribulations. Sonder, is the term, I believe, for the realisation of all the other people's lives going on around you, each as complex and varied as your own. And what connects all these interwoven threads?


Music.


Music keeps bringing people together, to cope, to heal, to dance. I am always reminded of the complex ways in which grief affects us, regardless of how much time we might seem to have to 'prepare', (not that a person ever truly can prepare for such a thing), but also the ways in which people use music to process the incomprehensible. The ways in which music intertwines with us is so profoundly personal that even I sometimes forget how inextricable music is, not just from our day-to-day, but beyond our lives, in the ways that people remember us.


Not to be all memento mori, but...it makes me wonder what music might make people think of me, when I've returned to the earth? I thought that it would be impossible to pick a single piece. And yet I keep coming back to the same one, over and over:



I often find myself grateful also that I have these frequent reminders of life's transient nature. I find it so easy to get stuck in my head, worrying about this concert, or this exam season, stressing to high heaven, but being grounded here, and now, is ever more important in turbulent times such as the ones we are living through.


And, so the saying goes, from death comes life, from sadness, eventually...joy and renewal, as the cycle turns anew. This then gets me thinking about the journey and couples formalise their relationships into both civil partnerships and marriages


With wedding planning comes the challenges of organising all the different moving parts, trying on dresses/suits, choosing a venue, caterers, flowers, readings...and then...music!

The immense challenge of picking a few pieces of music to distill those moments from your relationship. But then, that moment when the congregation stands, and the music starts, and everyone there feels that beautiful moment. At the reception, with people dancing, all brought together in that moment. Parents see their children growing and moving on with their lives, which comes with its own sense of pride and happiness; and also a bittersweet sense of loss, of time moving on.


And in some cases, the parents are no longer there to see them, but present in every step their child makes, in the readings and even in the music; I still remember how one bride explained her choice of entrance music:



This was her late father's favourite song, so that he could still be there, by her side, as she walked down the aisle.


It's making me teary even as I write it!



 

Beyond the philosophical, however, as the person at the helm of one of the largest (and at times, loudest) kinds of instruments on the planet, at which numerous, mortifying mistakes can be made (pulling the wrong stop, for example), knowing that the music that you play is forever engrained in the memory of those attending is a very specific kind of intense! Preparation, is, of course, everything, and keeping the family at the forefront of your mind helps me immensely.


Not always, but in some cases, I might never be able to speak directly to anyone, being often so far away in an organ loft, but I hope they know that I'm thinking of them, from start to finish; as I accompany the start, or indeed end, of something incredible, to music that represents so much more than I can really put into words here.


I think I'd like to finish this with a paraphrased quote from Marcus Aurelius' Meditations:


“Just that you do the right thing. The rest doesn't matter...There as well: "To do what needs doing." Look inward. Don't let the true nature of anything elude you. Before long, all existing things will be transformed, to rise like smoke (assuming all things become one), or be dispersed in fragments...Only there, delight and stillness...When jarred, unavoidably, by circumstances, revert at once to yourself, and don't lose the rhythm more than you can help. You'll have a better grasp of the harmony if you keep going back to it.”








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