One listen.

It took a while to get started here, and it shows. I like that I was touching on things here and there, and I like what was coming forward toward the end, however.

Robert Fripp’s “Pie Jesu” is from The Wine of Silence. Or rather, I should say this version of the song as there’s a few. This one was performed by Metropole Orkest and conducted by Andrew Keeling.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Strings murmuring, waking. There’s light falling over a space. There’s a new day. The strings lap on over, come in new and meld into the body. They grow loud; they grow quiet. They paint imagery; they paint mood.

Something comes a little more forward and it’s as though a gentle breeze as the eyes look toward the horizon. Looking and wandering what lies beyond, and it could be by the sea. It could be looking across the land. It could be looking inward.

The form of it all changes and remains unchanging. These sounds spread outward and inward, and look for something. Perhaps this is something reverential, and perhaps it is not. There are a lot of emotions in this; a lot of moods and shapes and stories. A lot of everything and trying to understand it all. Perhaps the human condition condensed into minutes.

There’s an intensity coming forward; a passion, and the body grows. The body increases and so does the expression of sound. It sweeps and brushes, and wraps around. It comforts and it caresses, and it leaves emptiness and isolation. It grows weighted, heavy. It draws out and it’s almost longing. It’s almost longing and looking for something it cannot have; Trying to touch something it cannot reach.

The sounds push out, thicken like a mighty tree, growing grand and beautiful, they remain coalesced into a form. A weight and the drama surrounding it, holding attention due to the sight it presents, and a leaf breaks off and falls away, falling down slowly as everything changes in a sweep of brief violence, and that leaf keeps falling, and it falls into silence at the song’s end.