(In which Job abides a leisurely Sunday.)

Posted by Job O Brother, May 6, 2007 12:00am | Post a Comment
It is Sunday. There’s a warm breeze that skims our skin outside, keeping us from breaking a sweat, though the sun shines brightly. Even now, as I sit in the living room of my lover’s house, listening to a suite written by my favorite classical composer for a spring day, Delius, the light shines through windows and hits the blonde wood floor and white walls, casting a buttery glow; keeping it balmy, as though this room is an extension of some lazy park.

Upstairs, my lover snoozes; his body sprawled out and touching every corner of the bed. Napping on a Sunday afternoon – he is in Heaven.

I f***king hate it. I HATE SUNDAY! I hate the warm breezes and clement temperature that elicits such ridiculous adjectives as read above! Blonde wood and buttery glow? What the hell is this anyway – a porn story for an Ikea catalogue?!

All my life and especially as a child I have regarded Sundays as the day that fun “takes the day off”. When you’re a kid and still in prison… did I say “prison”? I meant school. Sorry.

When you’re a kid and still in Guantanamo Bay, Sunday is the day before you have to return to class. As if being a kid in the 1980’s wasn’t bad enough. Double whammy!

I am grumpy. The good news is that I took my last dosage of antibiotics this morning. For those of you who haven’t read my previous entries, I have been battling a nasty case of breast cancer.

(Regular readers will know it’s actually just an ear infection, but first timers need to be drawn in with something a little more dramatic and compelling.)

Anyway, I am listening to the British composer, Frederick Delius. You Kate Bush fans will recall a track on her enigmatic effort, “Never For Ever” a song that bears his name, which is her love song for this composer. Or maybe it’s just a metaphor for her angst over her bunny slippers. Or maybe it’s about a ‘shroom trip she had while churning her own butter. It’s Kate Bush, so how are we to know?

Delius was one of the first good British composers, after a drought in likeable serious music from that country spanning from the late 1600’s to Victorian times, when Delius worked. This is, of course, only my opinion, but it’s the right one.

He’s not someone you casual listeners of classical music will be very familiar with. He doesn’t get any significant play on the radio. It’s pretty much Mozart, Beethoven and Fergie, as you know.

Still, on days when the sun is shinning gently and there’s a halcyon air about me, his music is what I most crave. It is often subtle, but infused with poetry and an almost virginal sense of wonderment, as though a child is alone and playing on the rolling hills of some pastoral estate.

I suggest listening to him when you have a view you want to enjoy. Maybe a snack of fruit, cheese, and sweet wine. Try him out next time you get stoned and work in your garden. If you’re feeling adventurous and you want to try him out after dusk, play him after you’re in bed with eyes closed, and try to imagine a scene that fits what you’re hearing. You will be surprised by your own depth of imagination, then finally lulled into some deep dreams.

His music is playful but sophisticated, organic but very intelligent. He adorns, lushly, what my lover would call, “a perfect Sunday”.

I would call it boring, but at least Delius gives this crummy day some poetry.


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Gays (71), Delius (1), Ikea (2), School (5), Guantanamo Bay (4), 1980's (21), Antibiotics (1), Kate Bush (23), England (23), Mozart (7), Beethoven (9), Fergie (1)