I think it’s beautiful, the idea of playing music within phone calls as you are on hold, waiting to speak with a person.
Today’s hold music started out with a low cello note, and melancholically went into strings. I was reminded of Emily Bowersox, whom I met one summer ago, who played Gershwin’s “Summertime” the first evening I met her. It quietly surprised me: this was Emily, who spoke with gentle, straightforward composure and who remarked in admiration at all the new Californian botany around her (she had hailed from Texas an afternoon ago). She hoped to see the ocean while she was here. I thought she had a somewhat reserved disposition.
But as her fingers glided across the keys of an old piano, a slow, jazzy melody arose. This was Emily, who I didn’t understand to have much personality yet. And yet, the music unfolded like so: full-bodied; stilling the night, stirring the summer. I stood in silence at its beauty.
It was appropriate, it was fitting. It was a slow simmer and rise to an unexpected summer, which was all beautiful. I am suspended; summertime holds me.
I listen to Cavalier by James Vincent McMorrow and I am cavalier, I realize. There is too much talk coming from my mouth. Words tumble one over another—hollow. My face grows hard as my heart does too. Often I forget that people are divine because I am cavalier to the Divinity before me