La Musique

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

flûte

There is something so astoundingly aching about the sound, or dare I say, the song of a flute. It is as though the air itself was spiralling inwards to produce that pure, pure tone.

The high notes are burdened with a deep-seated melancholy, so beautifully controlled it screams for release. The low-pitched notes are an entirely different matter altogether. Mellow and dulcet they are, like stroking the velvety petals of a rose in full bloom.

Then as though the tone itself was not enough to astonish you, the player does the funny thing to your heart as you hear the rubato, subtly straining against your heartstrings with every fluctuation.

Crystal, crystal, clear.

12:11 AM