Those who make music - sing, play, compose, arrange, teach - are among the magicians of this world. Music is a catapult that delivers us across the high, jagged fences of our darker moments into the flowered and open meadows, into the light. It is a soft landing.
A friend announced she would be spending this weekend with WUMB (University of Massachusetts Boston) radio and the Newport Folk Festival, incommunicado. (Visit their site and discover programming that is not available in many markets. A brief lament for the folk shows that Los Angeles radio used to offer.) After viewing the line-up for this year's event, I saw NPR has archived past festivals, which led to a quick YouTube search for 2011 and introduced me to the PS22 Chorus. Here is some background.
In their classroom on the other side of the world, the Gosnells Primary School Recorder Ensemble in West Australia performs. My brother is their teacher. The quenda of the title, also known as the southern brown bandicoot, lives in my brother's garden.
Rather than run in true fool fashion in ever-widening circles of vaguely connected passions for instruments, pieces of songs, musicians, record stores and a Rock-Ola jukebox, I will calm down. PS22, the Gosnells Ensemble and all students of music are eloquent without my help.