The Seventh Commandment

Everyone knows Rachmaninoff is my homeboy. I make the most ludicrous statements due to my deep infatuation with him: "Every heart has a language. Mine speaks Rachmaninoff." "Rachmaninoff made Chuck Norris cry." etc.

But, something happened today that challenged my blissful paradigm.

I was doing crossword #37 in Will Shortz's Greatest Hits (awesomeness in paper form) while listening to my classical station on Pandora, which has been tailored to churn out the best Late-Romantic Russian, German, and French music (awesomeness in audio form).

Then, Tchaikovsky's "Waltz of the Flowers" came on.

I should give you some back story before I continue. Growing up in the Caribbean, I was not familiar with the music of dead Russians at all. In fact, I only remember hearing classical music for the first time at age 7 or 8. Which is old in Mozart terms. I got to start piano lessons on my 7th birthday. After begging my parents for 2 years.

I remember distinctly the moment I fell in love with music, though. I was 8. My dad had ordered some Time Life product off the TV: "75 Best Loved Melodies" or something like that. The CD player was Mom and Dad's bedroom. Disc 1 was playing and I just happened to be there. Doing something that 8 year olds do. I forget.

Then, Tchaikovsky's "Waltz of the Flowers" came on.

I jumped up on the bed. I saw an orchestra on the floor. A long skinny white stick appeared in my hand and I was instantly clad in a tux with the flappy things in the back. I started conducting the invisible orchestra.

It was more like interpretive dance. I realized that I knew the piece completely. The CD had been played as I went to sleep every night, so it apparently entered my subconcious. I was cueing clarinets and horns. I was asking for more from the strings.

I was jumping up and down in a state of Pentecostal frenzy by the climax. Singing. Shouting. And with tears streaming down my face, I knocked out that ending. "Dah, dah, dah, dut, DAAAHHH, di DAH, DAH, DAH, DAH!"

I was so happy. I got scared when I felt my cheeks moist with tears, though.

So back to 2009. I bawl almost every time I hear Rachmaninoff's 2nd Symphony. I'm married to his music, but I had a little tryst with my first love a while ago...

I'm such an adulterer.