It might rain all day,yes,that is what I mean without a break,a pause,a gap in the downpour.These weather bods with their tracking devices like their predict when it might stop,or if ” high pressure” might appear,leading to the disappearance of the downpour.Now,with weather maps at their fingertips,they feed us,the awaiting eager beaver common weather watchers with news of when the Rain might stop.If it doesn’t,and it rains for the entire day,those would be intrepid explorers among us might seek to wrap up in our weather gear ,bravely those elements and capture the live sounds that exist .
Right now,the sounds of the rain drops descending offer a constant all of their own,a strange comfort really for me at least.Oftentimes in my muses,I have harked back to the days of my childhood in Cornwall,a time of freedoms in many ways,but also of challenges and turmoils.Sometimes in Cornwall,like parts of Wales and Scotland as well as the ermerald Isle,it literally rains for days,saturating the ground.That saturation has its own trade off with a lush green sheen in the vegetation,a glow almost ,with every raindrop that rests on a branch or leaf giving off its own magical magnet spell,
As much as rain portrays to me a visual sign of patterns descending from the sky,there are also the sound patterns,the pulses,the vibes if you like that occupy a special effect in the atmosphere.Those patterns don’t appear as endless annoying repetitions,like some manufactured music from a bored studios producer bereft of original ideas,no,these patterns ,like a duet with bird song ,act as a mental harness to lock in my attention.Our location during a downpour is a matter of sheltering almost from these drops,but there is also the sounds of the drops against the roof slates that co June up a symphony almost of tones that have always soothed me.
Another memory of my childhood,is in observing the sound of the rain drops from a shallow cave at Towan,or Tolcarne,Lusty and Porth,where the patterns perform gymnastics on my hearts ,almost triplets on a high hat,or a roll on the snare.
I make no pretence of having the genius of our dearly departed Chopin who,witnessing the rain at Malaga,composed the raindrop prelude while seriously ill and not having much time to live .It is my favourite prelude,and one that I learnt way too young and immature to appreciate its magnitude,but now it is in my musical mind on most days of my life and it is now playing in the forefront of my tonal headspace.
We live in a time when climate change becomes a paramount thing,and the way we have resided on this earth is in question because of the neglect of us ,or should I say,certain sections of the industrial world who are hell bent on polluting it.As the raindrops descends ,the cleansing of the Earth ,while a tad romantic in my part,is still a thought that interests me in its execution.As a child,I never got tired of the rain and maybe flicking through those Chopin preludes as a child,I was drawn to its title and even though my first attempts at playing the piece were very fragmentary,disjointed,in fact,the opposite of the flowing raindrops,it still allowed me to make inroads into the piece to allow for the development of a performance in later times.
Since my starting this particular muse,the rain has continued to descend to drench,to cleanse,to create sounds,to duet with the odd bird ,to just exist in its own time,at its own pace .
This existing with the elements is a good thing and the awareness of them stimulates the artist in all of us.
Thank you .