The Subprimary List, Or, What We Really Feel

My top three favorite works of music are The Magic Flute, Mendelssohn's Overture to A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Sibelius' Symphony No. 5. Rather, that is what I tell the world. This is not a complete lie, and indeed, is mostly true. I think these are sublime works of art and should be studied and learned from, and they have moments of great effect and affect. However, in my heart-of-hearts, the area unfettered with the demands of a jaded, complicated, pretentious world, there lies my Subprimary List of Favorites, that which if we all were allowed to completely open up and expose the inner-workings of our selves would represent us best. These are the things that, despite what we claim to the world as great, when we are alone we go through and over repeatedly and devotedly. (And mind you, there is certainly an allowance for things to be on both lists.) In music, three songs top the list, one which is, to me, the most perfect of melodies and soothes me (as it should), another which speaks to my soul, and the last which speaks to my heart.

"All Through the Night" ("Ar Hyd y Nos") Welsh Lullaby
 

The main theme from the fourth movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 is frequently cited as the most perfectly constructed of melodies. I think this tune is just as perfectly made, but also incorporates more leaps ("Ode to Joy" is almost entirely step-wise movement) a little more rhythmic variety, and more harmonic shadings. Its aaba phrase structure is of course common. But remember that this song is a lullaby, and meant to comfort one into repose for eventual slumber, so such a predictable, reliable form is more effective than something revolutionary. The effect is even more profound to me, as it comforts my soul for The Eventual Slumber. By the end of the b phrase I am completely done in, and the last 6-7-8 (la-ti-do) of each a phrase moves me like few other things do. I am not moved to heights of passion, to go off and fight the world of love, to relax, perhaps in a hammock, at dusk, with light clouds dotting a sky glowing in its dying fall towards that night which this song will carry me through.

"Vissi d'arte" from Tosca

Tosca is dragged into a political drama by her love for a revolutionary, and the obsession for her by the evil Baron Scarpia. This aria expresses her exasperation over her situation: she lived for art, she lived for love, but now she is in a pickle not of her doing. It is in this aspect that I identify with her, for until recently my attentions were diverted by political fervors that would have driven me mad if I did not (and continue to) make a return to that which I loved first and first of all, art. Politics and revolution and government and all their attendant philosophies turned out not to be the consummation devoutly to be wished. Before the moment I expire, I would like to reflect that I did indeed live for art, for love, and not out of a sense of regret and farewell. Oh, and Puccini's music here is absolutely sublime.

"Bill" from Show Boat

We imagine ourselves to be wise in love: the person we marry will be smart, handsome, kind, funny, and fit us to a T. Then along comes Bill, and the truth comes out: there is no wisdom in love. My Bill is indeed all those things we want in a mate, but he has the fatal flaw of being straight. True, this isn't an exactly identical situation, but nonetheless, misplaced love is an affliction almost all of us feel. And rarely has it been put more succinctly, memorably, or touchingly as in this song by Oscar Hammerstein II and Jerome Kern.