Enjoy a little Christmas music, courtesy of the old WPIX yule log. Man I can’t get enough of this.
I’m sitting here with a keyboard on my lap typing, after putting down my guitar for a few minutes. Not much in the way of musical exercises, just playing around, simple stuff, keeping my fingers moving, keeping them acquainted with the fretboard, with a greater than normal emphasis on harmony and some chord melody work in there as well.
After putting down the guitar, I turned off the television that was blaring the usual stupid crap at no one in particular, and decided to turn on some Christmas music. Classical Christmas music. This stuff is for me a mood enhancer, it picks me up when I’m feeling down, and reminds me very much of the magical feeling this season is supposed to engender, both in me and my fellow man.
The harmonies are out of this world. There is true beauty in the human voice, particularly when the singing is plainsong, and the songs themselves are familiar, it feels like…home.
A little “Riu, Riu” would be nice right about now. Maybe a little “Veni, Veni, Emmanuel”. Fantasia on Greensleeves just came on. Not plainsong, but beautiful nonetheless. Good enough for me. More than good enough.
And a little Charlie Brown Christmas goodness for everyone, even the crazy people who think that The President was trying to take it away from them when he spoke about Afghanistan when the Charlie Brown Christmas was supposed to be on.
This one is a shorty folks. Your favorite rhino has a headache, so I’m done. Have a good’un.
Today’s nugget, via wikiquote: But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round — apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that — as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol