Opinion > Star Staff
The difference between music and noise
By Patti Pfeiffer, Life's a Trip
These past few weeks ushered in musical extremes. For Mom's 80th birthday she was treated to an Andrea Bocelli concert. Mom adores Bocelli. Their nightly duet, performed in her kitchen every evening, has become a ritual. Over the clanging of pots and pans, she chops, dices and cooks to Bocelli's beat while belting out the few English lines he sings.
Early this year I learned that he was coming to Dallas and convinced myself the ticket cost was insignificant compared to Mom's thrill of seeing and hearing her singing partner perform in person.
And was it ever a thrill. It's one thing to see the Italian tenor perform on television and hear his CDs, but to be there live, while he sings, was beyond belief. I had no idea that kind of perfection existed, that such mellifluous sounds could come from a person's mouth.
I sat in utter amazement, shaking my head in astonishment as Bocelli performed flawlessly song after song. The first note of "Amazing Grace" created goose bumps. "The Prayer" prompted tears. "Ave Maria" was Heaven-sent. Reserved for encores, "New York, New York" and "Time to Say Good-bye" made the concert's end even more difficult to accept.
Not long after enjoying such an angelic event I experienced a different sound of music. The tickets for this gig were a gift from Hubby's brother.
It's no secret I don't care much for my spouse's sibling. Try as I may the man's impossible, difficult and challenging. I can get along with just about anyone but him. His attitude needs adjusting and his personality an extreme makeover. Decades later and still he harbors a divorcé disposition and has little use for women. Add to the mix that he's an engineer, an Okie, a know-it-all male and a man addicted to correcting one and all and, well, he's not exactly coveted company.
His Christmas gift this year was further indication of his feelings toward me. Concert tickets, his present, prompted a long, grueling two hours of enduring the sounds of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Admittedly, I went into the performance knowing nothing about the group. Yet, the abundance of beer-downing by attendees should have been a warning.
If beauty is in the eyes of the beholder then "music" is in the drums. And for my eardrums partial relief came halfway through the performance when my fingers found appropriate placement in the auditory canals.
Now, my other half contributed my intolerance to age. However, he's not been in my vehicle when the stereo's tuned to an oldie's rock-n-roll station and tunes are blasting loud enough to rattle windows.
I've attended my share of rock concerts. I know music and like most varieties. And thanks to my brother-in-law and the TSO, I also now know the difference between music and noise. At 70 years old, I'm surprised my brother-in-law likes the sound of what the TSO terms "rock opera" (surely an oxymoron). However, he does wear hearing aids, allowing volume adjustment and the ability to tune things out -- songs and a sister-in-law.
I will give TSO some credit. The light show was entertaining. Brilliant colored lasers beamed brightly. Blowing glitter descended. Flying high and hot, the warmth of fanning fire and flames felt good inside the cool arena.
Yet some of the sights were way too much. Female accompanists stood on stage jerking their heads in unison, side-to-side, flinging their long tresses from right to left. So many times I got dizzy just watching the immaturish routine. Surely they got a headache from the monotonous motion. I know I did.
The hair thing was kind of contagious. Guitarists seemed unable to play without dropping their head between their legs then throwing them back as long locks flapped along. The hairy movements made me want to jump on stage and perform a scissor solo on several performers.
The audience seemed restless -- or in need of a break and/or another brew. So many people milled about during the TSO concert which was performed with no intermission. During Bocelli's concert the only audience movement was standing ovations.
Not once in all my time have I wished for a concert's end or left the performance before the singers' silence, until TSO.
But hey, it was a Christmas present, and it's not the gift -- it's the thought that counts...unless eardrums have a voice in the matter.
Patti Pfeiffer is a Star Local News columnist, freelance writer and author. She may be contacted at pattip913@msn.com
Early this year I learned that he was coming to Dallas and convinced myself the ticket cost was insignificant compared to Mom's thrill of seeing and hearing her singing partner perform in person.
And was it ever a thrill. It's one thing to see the Italian tenor perform on television and hear his CDs, but to be there live, while he sings, was beyond belief. I had no idea that kind of perfection existed, that such mellifluous sounds could come from a person's mouth.
I sat in utter amazement, shaking my head in astonishment as Bocelli performed flawlessly song after song. The first note of "Amazing Grace" created goose bumps. "The Prayer" prompted tears. "Ave Maria" was Heaven-sent. Reserved for encores, "New York, New York" and "Time to Say Good-bye" made the concert's end even more difficult to accept.
Not long after enjoying such an angelic event I experienced a different sound of music. The tickets for this gig were a gift from Hubby's brother.
It's no secret I don't care much for my spouse's sibling. Try as I may the man's impossible, difficult and challenging. I can get along with just about anyone but him. His attitude needs adjusting and his personality an extreme makeover. Decades later and still he harbors a divorcé disposition and has little use for women. Add to the mix that he's an engineer, an Okie, a know-it-all male and a man addicted to correcting one and all and, well, he's not exactly coveted company.
His Christmas gift this year was further indication of his feelings toward me. Concert tickets, his present, prompted a long, grueling two hours of enduring the sounds of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Admittedly, I went into the performance knowing nothing about the group. Yet, the abundance of beer-downing by attendees should have been a warning.
If beauty is in the eyes of the beholder then "music" is in the drums. And for my eardrums partial relief came halfway through the performance when my fingers found appropriate placement in the auditory canals.
Now, my other half contributed my intolerance to age. However, he's not been in my vehicle when the stereo's tuned to an oldie's rock-n-roll station and tunes are blasting loud enough to rattle windows.
I've attended my share of rock concerts. I know music and like most varieties. And thanks to my brother-in-law and the TSO, I also now know the difference between music and noise. At 70 years old, I'm surprised my brother-in-law likes the sound of what the TSO terms "rock opera" (surely an oxymoron). However, he does wear hearing aids, allowing volume adjustment and the ability to tune things out -- songs and a sister-in-law.
I will give TSO some credit. The light show was entertaining. Brilliant colored lasers beamed brightly. Blowing glitter descended. Flying high and hot, the warmth of fanning fire and flames felt good inside the cool arena.
Yet some of the sights were way too much. Female accompanists stood on stage jerking their heads in unison, side-to-side, flinging their long tresses from right to left. So many times I got dizzy just watching the immaturish routine. Surely they got a headache from the monotonous motion. I know I did.
The hair thing was kind of contagious. Guitarists seemed unable to play without dropping their head between their legs then throwing them back as long locks flapped along. The hairy movements made me want to jump on stage and perform a scissor solo on several performers.
The audience seemed restless -- or in need of a break and/or another brew. So many people milled about during the TSO concert which was performed with no intermission. During Bocelli's concert the only audience movement was standing ovations.
Not once in all my time have I wished for a concert's end or left the performance before the singers' silence, until TSO.
But hey, it was a Christmas present, and it's not the gift -- it's the thought that counts...unless eardrums have a voice in the matter.
Patti Pfeiffer is a Star Local News columnist, freelance writer and author. She may be contacted at pattip913@msn.com
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