When we die, we will die with our arms unbound
I was browsing tonight in the basement of the Harvard Book Store (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch was buying seltzer in the CVS) when a girl came down the stairs. I registered that she had earbuds in and a backpack and I think a jacket over her arm, so chances are good that she was a student. Mostly I noticed that she thought she was alone in the basement—she had not been looking in my direction when I saw her and then there were shelves in between us—and she started singing. So come to me—come to me now—lay your arms around me— She was doubling the vocal line of the Decemberists' "This Is Why We Fight." After the song proper ended, she started doubling the vocal line of the folksy scrap of field-recording that takes up the rest of the track, a woman's voice accompanied by banjo and harmonica singing about a dog in a field with burrs in his toes; when she didn't know the words, she vocalised them. She had a thin, true voice, not much resonance but expressive. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she sang in a chorus, but I wouldn't expect more. She was singing the way people sing in the shower. I didn't even want to pick up the tune from her in case she heard me and stopped. I waited until she was down at the other end of the basement from me and then took my copy of Dorothy Baker's Young Man with a Horn (1938) and moved quickly up the stairs. She had gone on to something wordless I didn't recognize, I assume the next track on the iPod. I hope nobody disturbed her.
spatch was buying seltzer in the CVS) when a girl came down the stairs. I registered that she had earbuds in and a backpack and I think a jacket over her arm, so chances are good that she was a student. Mostly I noticed that she thought she was alone in the basement—she had not been looking in my direction when I saw her and then there were shelves in between us—and she started singing. So come to me—come to me now—lay your arms around me— She was doubling the vocal line of the Decemberists' "This Is Why We Fight." After the song proper ended, she started doubling the vocal line of the folksy scrap of field-recording that takes up the rest of the track, a woman's voice accompanied by banjo and harmonica singing about a dog in a field with burrs in his toes; when she didn't know the words, she vocalised them. She had a thin, true voice, not much resonance but expressive. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she sang in a chorus, but I wouldn't expect more. She was singing the way people sing in the shower. I didn't even want to pick up the tune from her in case she heard me and stopped. I waited until she was down at the other end of the basement from me and then took my copy of Dorothy Baker's Young Man with a Horn (1938) and moved quickly up the stairs. She had gone on to something wordless I didn't recognize, I assume the next track on the iPod. I hope nobody disturbed her.
no subject
That reminds me of an equally lovely moment way back in my grad school days. This was in Santa Barbara; I was walking toward campus when a young woman biked past me, singing an aria from Verdi. I wanted to run after to listen, but my arms were full of books.
no subject
I understand your impulse entirely. That's glorious.