Tag Archives: tempo

Beat

Beat: (n) a main accent or rhythmic unit in music or poetry.Dictionary B

If you really don’t know the difference between good and bad, it’s easy to mix them up. All you have to do is listen to the wrong zealot.

There are people who are convinced they are right, and they’re very willing to do questionable things to promote their cause.

When I was a young boy and rock and roll was equally as adolescent, I was told that the beat of the music was set to the human heart rate so as to excite us and build up a “jungle fever,” which would make us do uncontrollable actions of lust.

The person sharing this was so convinced of his truth that he wrote a book. I, being naive, was converted–until I fell under the spell of the passionate beat.

As I’ve gotten older, I have realized that music is supposed to stimulate us. Trying to eliminate stimulation for fear that it might turn into sexual impropriety is to place our emotions in a box, hoping to find a high shelf where they cannot be touched.

It’s ridiculous.

We need a beat.

My God, today our country needs a spiritual and emotional beat to set the tempo for intelligent conversation and change. One group is too slow; the other at times seems to have uncontrollable rapidity.

What is the beat of change?

It would only make sense that it should correspond with our hearts … since without them, we seem incapable of sensing our better nature.

 

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

 

 

 

Adagio

Words from Dic(tionary)

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Adagio: 1. (adj) a very slow tempo in music 2. (n) the name of the slow movement in a musical composition: e.g. Barber’s Adagio for Strings

I realize that I have reached the adagio of my life. My body has asked me to slow down the tempo.

I am not quite as capable of pizzicato anymore. Jumping up and down and leaping about seems to be something more worthy of discussion than application.

I also don’t Allegro. There’s no need to go fast when the destination does not seem to be moving away and the arrival time is not necessarily dictated.

I think some people become very upset when adagio settles into their years–so much so that they often take a cue from the musical community and place this passage in a minor key. Rather than keeping a lovely melody of major beauty, a darkness settles in, to communicate that “we’ve slowed down and will no longer pizzicato or allegro.”

I think most men wish they could take a Viagra which would affect their whole being, transforming them to when they were eighteen years old and generally energetic (although more often than not, embarrassed over their choices.)

Not me. I would rather be pleased over my well-thought-out conclusions than to jump to them, only to run into a brick wall.

I suppose most people’s favorite part of a musical composition is the fast Allegro, filled with energy, musicians showing off their prowess of fingering.

But there is something wonderful about taking the Adagio, removing the remorse, cutting out the regrets and ushering in an enlightening tunefulness which fills the soul with hope and joy.

That’s what I want to do.

The reason for living longer than you really should–because honestly, if you do it right, you pretty well have hit the high points by the age of thirty-five–anyway, back to my point: the purpose for continuing past that juncture is to discover, relate, create and expand upon the human condition with your wisdom, your simplicity and your calm spirit.

If you’re running around in your fifties, sixties or seventies trying to prove that you’re still young, attempting to convince everybody that your Allegro movement is prolonged, you will miss the true satisfaction of sharing your Adagio and warming the hearts of your audience.

 

Abattuta

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter AAbattuta: (adv.) a musical term meaning to return to strict tempo.

Sometimes I think life should be more musical–not in the sense of bursting into song while you’re waiting for your meatball sandwich at Subway, but musical in the sense of flourishes in timing, with exciting melodies and enhancing harmonies. Music grants you the ability to suddenly play very fast. And then … you can abattuta! Return back to your strict timeframe.

Life is not that way. It takes sixty seconds to make a minute, an equal number of minutes to make an hour, and twenty-four of them eventually make a day. Wouldn’t it be great if you had some sort of control–like a conductor’s baton–to make certain portions of your daily composition go quicker?

In other words, when you go to the dentist and he’s drilling on your teeth, you could increase the tempo–get out of the chair with a flourish. And then, as you were allowing the Novocaine to wear off and you stop at that Steak and Shake to reward yourself with a delicious chocolate-marshmallow milkshake, you could slow the tempo w-a-a-y down, allowing the ooey-gooey to eek its way down your throat.

You could speed up church services and slow down romance.

You could accelerate the interchanges you have with your children to confirm that you’re a good parent, and slow down the ending of the game, which finally, for a change, is actually close and interesting.

Maybe that’s the whole problem–life is too abattuta. Because when we try to relish moments, the clock frowns at us and continues its steady pursuit of strict formality.

Yes, clocks are like that. Still, I will search for a way to freeze moments so I can enjoy them even more as they thaw out. And I will hum songs and think happy thoughts to speed through those activities that are truly grueling and boring. Yet I know there will always be the abattuta to taunt me back to the mature notion of remaining in strict time.

I guess I never saw God as the conductor of an orchestra. To me, He’s more like the guy who plays the triangle. He lets the symphony ensue, but every once in a while, inserts his two-note passage that seems to make all the difference in the world.