It starts out impossibly quiet, so press play now.
Turns out Moldau is the German word for the Vltava river in Prague. I always figured it was some ancient mythical creature with fantastical stories. I suppose it's a tribute to Smetana that his symphony, The Moldau, always made me picture the rise and fall of a rushing river with crystal waters.
I first heard it in a class in college. It was easily one of the most heart-pounding pieces I'd ever heard. I have a habit, though, of not writing things down. So I sold back my books with the CD for the class and the name of this glorious composition was lost to the ages.
For three years after that, I tried to recall the melody in my mind. I didn't know who it was by, what era it was from, not even a hint of the title. And then one day...
I was traveling with a theatre group. We were at yet another church, getting ready. In the ladies' room, I was piecing together my stage makeup when I heard humming from one of the nearby stalls. It was my friend, Lorilee, and she always hummed. But that particular day she was humming a melody with a far off familiarity, like the voice of an old friend.
(Why do I often have enlightening moments involving bathrooms? I couldn't tell you. And it's a little awkward when I think of it. In any case...)
I caught my breath then yelled breathlessly to Lorilee "what is that?!"
From behind the stall door, "um...what is what?"
"What are you humming?"
"It's called the Moldau, by Smetana, an early 20th century composer." Yes, she really answered questions with that much detail.
"Sing it again."
And so the conversation went, and I rediscovered Smetana in a restroom somewhere in Ohio.
I still didn't write it down-- because, on a hunch, I scoured my own musical collection and discovered that during those three years of wondering, I actually owned The Moldau. It was on a collection of classical favorites that I apparently never listened to.
Turns out Moldau is the German word for the Vltava river in Prague. I always figured it was some ancient mythical creature with fantastical stories. I suppose it's a tribute to Smetana that his symphony, The Moldau, always made me picture the rise and fall of a rushing river with crystal waters.
I first heard it in a class in college. It was easily one of the most heart-pounding pieces I'd ever heard. I have a habit, though, of not writing things down. So I sold back my books with the CD for the class and the name of this glorious composition was lost to the ages.
For three years after that, I tried to recall the melody in my mind. I didn't know who it was by, what era it was from, not even a hint of the title. And then one day...
I was traveling with a theatre group. We were at yet another church, getting ready. In the ladies' room, I was piecing together my stage makeup when I heard humming from one of the nearby stalls. It was my friend, Lorilee, and she always hummed. But that particular day she was humming a melody with a far off familiarity, like the voice of an old friend.
(Why do I often have enlightening moments involving bathrooms? I couldn't tell you. And it's a little awkward when I think of it. In any case...)
I caught my breath then yelled breathlessly to Lorilee "what is that?!"
From behind the stall door, "um...what is what?"
"What are you humming?"
"It's called the Moldau, by Smetana, an early 20th century composer." Yes, she really answered questions with that much detail.
"Sing it again."
And so the conversation went, and I rediscovered Smetana in a restroom somewhere in Ohio.
I still didn't write it down-- because, on a hunch, I scoured my own musical collection and discovered that during those three years of wondering, I actually owned The Moldau. It was on a collection of classical favorites that I apparently never listened to.
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