Czardas

As I write this, there is a girl in my parent’s house. Mom is teaching her a violin lesson. The product of their combined efforts will be $16, a wasted half-hour, and a horribly angry Riet.

For although I can’t hear it, I know she’s making something I love into something filthy and obscene.

(You may recognize this as the beginning of Lady Gaga's Alejandro video.) A Czardas is actually a type of dance as opposed to a specific melody. Vittorio Monti wrote this one, despite the fact that he's not Hungarian or a gypsy.  His became the most famous Czardas, often mistaken for folk music despite its bastard origins. It is simplistic and sappy.  I adore it. 

Flashback time!

The first really good student my mother ever had was named Andye. She was in 10^th grade and played in the Grand Rapids Youth Symphony. (9-year-old translation: VIOLIN GODDESS) One day, I was upstairs when she started playing the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

The violin pieces I had experienced up until that point were neatly organized and rather bland classical tunes, minuets and the like. Czardas was earth-shattering. It didn’t give a shit about your metronome. It spit on your tidy divisions between notes.

I was in love. Now that I think about it, hearing Czardas was the very beginning of my borderline obsession with Eastern European music.

All complaints resulting from excessive Red Army Chorus fangirling may be directed to Vittorio Monti.
Or you can just hit me. That too. 

I started to secretly learn it when alone in the house; even at the brash age of ten I somehow had the sense not to be appallingly jumped-up for once in my life. I had heard a violin cry, laugh, and dance all at once, and damned if I wasn’t going to learn how.

I was never allowed to play it. By the time I had enough technical ability and courage to mention it to my teacher, I still couldn’t summon enough anger on command and translate it into music. (I don’t know where that Riet went either.) Now I only play it in angsty solitude.

...Anyway! This student—let’s call her Laura—is in high school and reluctantly taking violin lessons because her mother thinks it makes her well-rounded.

And.

She.

Is.

Abominable.

Basic rhythm and intonation are complete mysteries to her. She pays no attention to even the most basic key signature; apparently we have to write out every single note exactly as it is, complete with color coding and encouraging arrows. When Laura starts drivers’ ed, she’ll have to arrange for all the roads to be painted bright orange so she doesn’t constantly plow into 7-11s and small children. She probably has warning stickers on all knives, outlets, and open flames in her house that say “THESE MAKE OUCHIES” and depict expressions of horrible pain.

 She is allowed to play Czardas. She is allowed to play CONCERTOS. She should be playing pieces with names like “I Have A Little Moo Cow” and “Spring Is Here, Hooray!”. But no.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticizing my mother’s teaching methods. Throwing someone off the deep end is a great way to force him or her to learn. In an individual setting, the difficulty of the piece is so humiliating that the fear of defeat drives the student above laziness. In a group setting, the student is inspired by the talent of those surrounding her and will be motivated to rise above the bottom of the barrel. The individual approach might not work if the student is an arrogant princess type. (there’s the rub…)

My problem is with the song. You can completely slaughter melodramatic pseudo-gypsy music and not draw my wrath. God knows I do it all the time. In fact, it's probably more authentic that way. But you have to mean it. 

The absolute worst way to treat a melodramatic piece is to slog through it apathetically like a hipster through a mall. Much worse than wrong notes. Much worse than erratic rhythm. I know feigning enthusiasm is horrifying to a teenager, but then why did she pick that song? Ugh! She makes me want to smash her violin onto her oh-so-breakable fingers, just so she'll feel something. 

Augh! Ok...ok. Calming down.

Dear Czardas, I will always love you. Those horrible things Laura did to you are not your fault. Let’s run away together to an island where there are lots of klezmer bands and magical violins. On second thought, I think that island is Manhattan. Oh well. We'll find you an accordion player and live happily ever after.

On Asexuality 1.5

An addendum to the previous post:

What if you like foreplay but not sex?

Damned if I'm qualified to tell you whether you count as a legit asexual. Like any other queer category, it's a self-identified group.

Honestly, though, liking foreplay but not sex would seem to fall squarely into the asexual category unless you are motivated by sexual attraction to engage in foreplay.

I don't know what sexual attraction feels like; that's between you and your junk. I assume that different people value parts of a sexual experience more than others. If you happen to value one more than the other but still consider your motivation to be sexual attraction, then I would consider that to be sexuality. If you value foreplay more than sex because of your lack of sexual attraction to others and because you've got a different reason for enjoying foreplay, then welcome to the monochrome mob, comrade.

Having as much experience of sexual attraction as a rutabaga has of calligraphy, I cannot comment on or empathize with it. Go lust after a lamppost if it floats your boat. Look at it standing there, all steely and curvaceous and RAVISHING. If you can get along fine without sex, feel that your complete expression of love is not bound to sex, and/or want to embrace the label, go for it.

...

I feel like there are about sixty layers of sophistication that completely went over my head like a V-2 rocket on the way to destroy everything I have ever known. Well, the awesome thing about the sexuality spectrum, or sphere, or camel, or bassoon, or where was I? Oh yes. --is that people love to debate it with infinitely more skill than I could dream of. May the world listen.

P.S. Little thing that bothers me: Asexuality--as a queer category--doesn't mean "weighing your options". (I'm looking at you, mom.) It doesn't mean that you are sexually attracted to people regardless of their gender, although there are panromantic asexuals out there. That's called pansexuality. Asexuality is a bit of a clunky word because it can be literally defined in several ways. *grumble, crosses arms*

P.P.S. Ooooh! For the very best in asexual debate and camaraderie, wander over to the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN). They will answer questions you have, questions you don't have, and questions you never want to have.

On Asexuality

A friend pointed out to me that the term “asexual” is actually a misnomer for some people who might identify with the label. I had hinted on several occasions that graphic sexual imagery or verbally described sexual situations squicked me out a bit, as did the prospect of having sex. She called me on it to confront my identification as asexual.

In order to be a-something, one must be absolutely indifferent to it. A dislike or disgust would turn one’s position into an anti-.

I maintain that it is possible for someone to be truly indifferent to sex and yet still shun it or situations that lead to it.

Here’s my logic. Sex requires both participants to hurdle several social taboos (such as touch and sight of genitalia), rendering each person quite vulnerable. You don’t just go from sitting on the couch to full-on banging unless you’re trapped in a comedically cut porn film.  Romance-minded people might recognize the hurdling as “intimacy”. Anyway, would-be lovers cross these boundaries to achieve the end goal of intercourse.

Going the distance with a partner who doesn’t really see what the huge deal is about inserting tab A into slot B, or any combination thereof, gets tricky.

One can dislike foreplay and still be indifferent to sex, because the whole point of foreplay is that it is arousing in and of itself while leading to something perceived as inherently desirable and enjoyable. If only one partner is attracted and/or aroused, the other partner may see foreplay as needless excess that encroaches upon their social boundaries, even with a romantic partner. If the asexual partner values their relationship enough, he or she might consent to foreplay, but as a sort of chore. Who wants to do chores? That's right. Liars.

Therefore, if one experiences no revulsion towards intercourse itself, yet is distressed by the situations, activities, and actions that often accompany intercourse, then one can still truthfully adhere to the asexual label. 

Damn, I tried to explain that clearly and it sort of failed. Ugh. It may seem like I type with pretentious words to make myself seem more intelligent, but truthfully I've forgotten how to write any other way. To compound the problem, I write more formally and with more periodic sentences whenever I feel that something is at stake. Please forgive. 

Riet's Old Fogey Christmas Carol Extravaganza

Christmas lasts TWELVE DAYS when you're Catholic, dammit! *clings to convenient aspects of religion like any modern pseudo-Catholic*

I have a pathological hatred of Christmas music written after 1900. It’s twinned with my utter disdain for any attempt to drag religious music into the 20^th or 21^st centuries and it gets pretty unhealthy; I tend to go slightly insane when exposed to the Christmas radio station for longer than ten seconds. 

You will note that none of the wassail songs are included here, as they have their origins in non-religious things and would therefore not qualify as Christmas carols per se. Don't get me wrong--I love them a lot. Especially the ones that get into thinly veiled extortion in the third verse or so. The Somerset Wassail is especially awesome. 

Anyway, I was raised on the Vienna Boys’ Choir and medieval English carols, and I'm going to bloody well stay that way. I feel no shame in calling these carols really beautiful. When I talk about music being the thin and unbreakable link between me and religion, this is partially what I'm referring to. Here is a list of lovely things to bring you tidings of comfort and joy. 

A La Nanita Nana

A Spanish song. When we were kids, especially if Doña Chencha was over, Grandpapa liked to play this on the guitar. 

WHY DID THE CHEETAH GIRLS COVER THIS SONG? RAGE. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: RUINING RIET'S CHILDHOOD. 

Es Hat Sich Halt Eröffnet

I have no idea what this is about. Something about gates opening and angels singing. It's Austrian. It's cheerful (surprise). It wins. This is the Vienna Boys Choir. 

Patapan

This one is originally French, and urges children to pick up various musical instruments (hence pa-ta-pa-ta-pan for the drum and tu-re-lu-re-lu for the flute)  and celebrate Christmas. I may just like it because of the fife. Oh well.

Riu Riu Chiu

The awesomeness of this Spanish carol is offset only slightly by its fiendishly difficult rhythm. Some arrangements are harder than others. For some reason we have a ridiculous one.

Still, Still, Still (weils Kindlein schlafen will)

Last Christmas morning, our dog turned out to have frozen to death in the neighbor's driveway. Not exactly the happiest of times, but damn it, we were going to play Christmas carols if it was the last thing we did. It was Tradition, and you don't run away from improperly capitalized words. As we'd already been through the standards ad nauseam, we turned to the endless fountain of Christmas music that my grandparents seem to have. 

We sang this song. Only one person there spoke German, but we decided we had the right to be bigots about it. 

So we took it down an octave, turned the gutturals up to eleven, and sang like we were going to straight up murder everyone if they didn't STFU so Jesus could sleep. 

This is referred to as A Jolly Good Time in our family. 

Sorry about the stupid picture.

(edit: I was going to link to a stereotypical German marching song, so as to give you a lulzy idea of our interpretation, but most of them are by white supremacist dickwads and I will not give their videos one more hit than is necessary.)

Gaudete

Huzzah for Latin carols!

Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born from the Virgin Mary, rejoice!

Personent Hodie

Ahhhhh, this is what Catholicism should be like--grave, monumental, ancient, and completely unintelligible to the common man! (I jest! I jest! Well, only a little.)

Coventry Carol

I've always loved this song for its unearthly sorrow, but I learned a new history fact that makes it more interesting...

December 28 was the Feast of the Holy Innocents. King Herod supposedly got wind of the birth of a new King of the Jews from the wise men (awful wise of you, wise men) and ordered all young male children in Bethlehem to be cut into bits, effective immediately. The victims of this brilliant PR tactic are remembered as the first apocryphal martyrs.

Anyway, the most famous song about Herod's baby-killing spree is the Coventry Carol. 

Herod the King in his raging

chargéd he hath this day

his men of might in his own sight

all young children to slay

It's named for a highly industrial city in England. On November 14, 1940, Coventry was the target of a Luftwaffe operation known as 'Moonlight Sonata'. Hundreds of people were killed and over a thousand were injured. If you want to read about the mutually awkward implications of broadly-targeted bombing, you can get your jollies here.

Anyway, I see interesting things in this song. It's about a cruel king ordering the deaths of civilians to cement his own power. Sound familiar?

I'll bet my nose that the Coventry Carol was sung quite often during Christmas 1940. 

I'll be Home for Christmas

I actually hate this song a lot, so I'm not going to link to it, but something pretty hilarious just struck me...

I'll be home for Christmas, you can count on me.

Please have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree. 

Christmas Eve will find me where the love-light gleams.

I'll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams. 

We know these things:

1.     The song was written during the war, so it’s implied that the singer is in the service.

2.     He won’t be home for Christmas.

3.     On Christmas Eve, however, he’ll be “where the love-light gleams”.

4.     He will dream about being home for Christmas.

I don’t know about you, but when I heard “love-light” I immediately thought of this:

…which transforms this into the least romantic Christmas carol ever.

To give him a little credit, he gets honesty points for telling his girl that he’s going holiday whoring, and that he’ll be home “if only in his dreams”, so he’ll regret it a little afterward.

 Stille Nacht

Saved this one for last, because I didn't want to deal with it. 

If you play Silent Night around me (and it’s not a commercial version that will just make me rage), I’ll be seeing ghosts by the second verse. They will be staring out of holes in the ground and squinting between twisted trees. 

Silent Night is one of the few carols that are immensely popular in both the German and English languages. In several accounts (of both world wars), this song came drifting down the lines in both languages. In the very few locations where the (in)famous and much-mythologized Christmas Truce of 1914 took place, this song was there. 

Not on my list of favorites, but maybe the one with the most emotional impact. Silent Night is not healthy for someone with a dangerously overactive imagination.

:D I found Vladimir Miller singing it! He's an AMAZING basso profundo. I was looking for a version with a male chorus and hadn't realized that St. Petersburg had done it. 

That is all for today. Probably going to move to smaller posts from now on because these larger ones have a tendency to sit around unfinished for weeks as I hem and haw over their content. Blargh. 

And may joy come to you

and to you your wassail too

and God send you a happy new year!