Can the same sound have different sounds?
The band settles itself on the stage and the tuning begins—isolated sounds erupt into the air. The clarinet and oboe murmur some sultry tones as the trumpet blares briefly. The string instruments lazily harmonize and I fumble with my dress, pulling the black satin back over my stockingless knees. I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and flip through the program, trying to appear as sophisticated as the blasé crowd surrounding me. The music prepares itself. I prepare myself. Silence drops on the lounge and I glance up. Now, we are both ready.
No niceties, no introductions. The music begins immediately and Bublé opens the night with Sinatra’s “Learning The Blues.” The brass—sassy and rhythmic. Somehow my heartbeat echoes its uneven staccatos. The piano—edgy and sparkling. My fingers dance on my knee, searching for the chords. The percussion—faithful and familiar. I don’t notice my left foot freely following along. Particles of sound touch everything. They are palpable, tangible. For once, melody materializes and tone actualizes. Sound takes on shape and density. It can be felt and heard. Each pitch hits me differently; each note takes on a distinct color. Puffs of it roll through the room, waves of it tumble across chairs, and streams of it rush over our limbs. The dandelion blare of the trumpet, the purple bop of the drum, the blush throb of the violin and the cobalt ding of the piano.