I prefer ‘Silent Night’ to be pure, and simple, and clear. I imagine drifts of snow frozen and crusted over, everything still, under a starry sky.
A bit of a prayer, really, but one of warmth:
It reminded me of this:
My fiftieth year had come and gone,
I sat, a solitary man,
In a crowded London shop,
An open book and empty cup
On the marble table-top.
While on the shop and street I gazed
My body of a sudden blazed;
And twenty minutes more or less
It seemed, so great my happiness,
That I was blessed and could bless.
Whole poem here.
Not exactly Christmas…
Become a gentlemen, and recover your nobility, honor, and dignity, but with twinges of nostalgia, melancholy and loss.
Please don’t think of windmills, but there’s a lot of Spain in this one:
And if you’re tired of Christmas music, have some metal. Give this one a chance. It’s exquisitely played and thoughtfully arranged:
He’s a member of the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet.
As to the title of Couperin’s piece, the mystery continues, from women’s eyelashes to a train and all that mass, slowly gaining momentum as each constituent car clacks along, picking up speed.
An ‘American Folk’ uptempo version by Christopher Parkening: