Topic: 'Lendo's Rehearsal Studio

Prolendo

Date: 2006-05-26 14:25 EST
(( The home of Prolendo Sidh-Amhr?n.

This thread will be less a story line and more snapshots in time of Prolendo's life. Performances will be posted here as well and where possible I will provide a link to the mp3 of the related song.

Any who wish to interact with 'Lendo on the boards are welcome to add to this thread. :)

))

Prolendo

Date: 2006-05-26 21:42 EST
The building suited his needs perfectly. It backed up against the wall separating DragonsGate from the Old Market district and was practically across the street from the Theather and Opera House. Not that any of the people already on the stage would end up in his little studio. They generally already felt they had whatever talent and skill was necessary to be where they were. After all, they were the stars.

But the people who came to see the shows and concerts and ballets were the ones who would come to him. The people who came out all star struck and singing the songs they'd just heard and thinking, "I could do that!" Those people would see his little sign across the street and take note of it. And days later, when the fire and bravado had left, the desire to be up there, to make the audience cry with the tiniest whisper, to see their rapt faces as the climax of the song approached, and to bow before them as they clapped and cheered, would still burn inside a few of them.

That would be when they would remember his sign and the humble appearance of his studio. And they would think that maybe, just maybe, they *could* actually learn to be that person on stage. But while they would never dare go near the glitz and glamour of the opera house, that little quiet looking studio seemed so inviting and surely it wouldn't hurt to just go see what it was all about.

Those were the people he loved. The people who arrived wanting to become something more than they currently were. The people who came not because they knew they had talent, but because they *hoped* they had talent. And he would bring them in and the music, oh the glorious music, would wrap them, and fill them, and whatever iota of ability they had, he would find and would nurture and caress and tease up until it touched upon their soul and they knew it.

Hardly anyone who came to him left a virtuoso. But all of them left better than they were, and filled with the awareness that whatever music they had, was enough.

It was enough just to have the music.

Prolendo

Date: 2006-05-28 21:21 EST
It had been a disaster.

Prolendo had gone to the Inn to inquire about getting a gig there. It had taken a bit of courage to venture out away from the familiar, comfortable, unthreatening shell that was his studio. But until there were students, he needed a way to pay the bills, and as long as he was performing, he would be ok.

He had started out by offending the bartender and then ended up doing an impromptu audition in front of the thankfully few patrons who were there. His nervousness at having to perform spur of the moment in the common room of the inn caused him to flub the parts and end the song less than halfway through. He then managed a social flub or two while those who had listened politely made the appropriate noises in spite of his dismal performance.

He fled back to his studio and slammed the door behind him, falling back to lean against it. His head tipped back repeatedly to tap the door with a thump, thump, thump as he brought his humiliation under control.

Then he slowly paced forward to the center of the studio and took a deep breath, preparing himself to perform again, as the stunted audition had left him needing to truly bring the song forth. He buried his face in his hands and began to sing?

A chorus of voices, ethereal and soft, flowing from simple two part harmonies into dense tonal clusters and back with the slow fluidity of a wide, deep river. Each voice following its own course through a phrase but constantly intermingling with the others. Approaching, breaking apart, melding with a different voice. Ending a phrase with an exquisite chord, dissonant, but somehow so painfully beautiful that one cannot help but feel a desperate yearning for it to never end.

Night with the eyes of a horse that trembles in the night, night with eyes of water in the field asleep is in your eyes, a horse that trembles, is in your eyes of a secret water.

Eyes of shadow-water, eyes of well-water, eyes of dream-water.

Silence and solitude, two little animals moon-led, drink in your eyes, drink in those waters.

If you open your eyes, night opens, doors of musk, the secret kingdom of the water opens flowing from the center of night.

And if you close your eyes, a river fills you from within, flows forward, darkens you: night brings its wetness to beaches in your soul. The lyrics and the music combine to take the listener to the dark at the center of themselves, and dwell in it, and cherish it. And as the last chord dies away, there comes a silence that should last an eternity.

(( Water Night Lyrics - Octavio Paz (translated from Spanish) Music - Eric Whitaker ))

RoslynTaber

Date: 2007-09-28 03:39 EST
Roslyn left the old tin shed with a smile.

Sometimes all it was to calm a night was joy in a simple form. Music, or its musician in this case, either or.