(listening to organ music of Anthoni Van Noordt)
Golly, I feel pretty durned cultured. This evening, Lindz and I attended a performance of Handel's Messiah at Duke University Chapel. The wide-eyed rapture I sustained during its three hours of music is evidence that I inherited my late father's love of sacred music. I suppose my cd collection would also serve as evidence, but enduring those hard pews at Duke is the true test. Lindz's tailbone still hurts; bless her.
The performance was fabulous, the orchestra, choir and soloists were top-notch. The glorious place where they did it was what made it so magical for me. A gothic church with exquisite stained glass windows and a vaulted ceiling 73 feet above one's head will take one out of a humdrum state of mind. The Messiah is a great piece of work, both in quality and quantity. After three hours, you feel like you've gotten your dose of couth.
Dad would have burst with glee; he traveled to many cathedrals in Europe in his days, but a performance of this caliber in such a grand church would have really been something special for him. I enjoyed it enough for the both of us.
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