Author

Sean Jackson

VAST PARAPETS AND PROMENTORIES OF SOUND

257bIt was mountains of sound—vast parapets and promontories and cliffs of sound. The deep bass notes were born of thunder, or the roar of a great fire, or the eruption of a volcano. They filled the space completely, as thoroughly as the air, as densely as water.

Somewhere in the interstitial spaces between the notes, the trills of the higher ranges could be heard flitting overhead.  It was as if the very songs of the birds had been captured for the pleasure of the composer.

It was the last few bars of the benedictory song being played one ordinary Sunday morning on the great pipe organ of New York’s Trinity Church.

It shook the air.

It was the roar of an immense waterfall. A roar of booms. It was primordial, as if left over from some great cataclysm. Or beginning.

It shook the air and vibrated the body and the soul.

It was sublime.

Though it was one of my mother’s great joys to finally obtain a Hammond for our small town church, I’ve never been enamored by the sound architecture of the ordinary organ. And though my favorite aunt Marian sang… Continue reading

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