Symphony No. 9 Ludvig van beethoven. Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra

Symphony No. 9 Ludvig van beethoven. Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra

week #33: beethoven, nietzsche and deRozan

this is the one with his ode to joy;

one has heard and overheard all the artificially sweetened abstracts and modernized versions of this ode; but I haven’t until now listened to it in its fullness and context: the theme that comes in on a muffled drone, that is like the grunt of ballasts from the subterranean depths of a stone house... really it’s something deeper than joy, more learned, mixing the heft of despair and the flippancy of elation—has anyone written an ode to respite?—or to the most sudden happenstance of relief from an over-anticipated weight....


“Gratitude pours forth continually, as if the  unexpected had just happened—the gratitude of a convalescent—for convalescence was unexpected. “Gay Science”: that signifies the saturnalia of a spirit who has patiently resisted a terrible, long pressure—patiently, severely, coldly, without submitting, but also without hope—and who is now all at once attacked by hope, the hope for health, and the intoxication of convalescence. [...] this whole book is nothing but a bit of merry-making after long privation and powerlessness, the rejoicing of strength that is returning, of a reawakened faith in a tomorrow and the day after tomorrow…” (Nietzsche, The Gay Science)

yes, perhaps that’s it: an ode to the first leaps of a gay science—or perhaps this: a gagliarda for those learning to walk after an over-anticipation of flight—to a saturnalia?

anyways. currently one might find reasons for joy; it’s been a week; yes a trying, stupefying one—but nothing more than a week. and by tomorrow I’ll already be dismissive and flippant with my ‘yeah but that shit happened last week’.

is it true (one has endured a long training to believe otherwise) that our very own Raptors are cause for joy? have we ever been more than now less intimidated by léBron and his band of bandwagoning supplicants?—tyrone lue looks more and more with every game like sheep in shepherd’s clothing. I’d do better to believe otherwise: that demarvelous dechosen can bring us the chip.

but I need practice, in believing in a tomorrow and a day after tomorrow.

(“practise? you talkin bout practise??”)-(yea, that thing allen iverson is known to have said, taken out of context)