Music

Mornings in Marcus Garvey Park are quiet. There are only occasional passersby and a few dogs, as well as a car going past on the road every now and then, to break the calm. Later in the day, however, it is a different story. The park has a football pitch that also doubles as a basketball court, and in the afternoon, in stark contrast to a month ago, it teems with earnest players shouting at and calling to one another. At this time, there also emerge families bringing their children on a walk or to play, friends cycling or running past, and lone pedestrians carrying their bags or shopping home.

Sometimes there is music as well on the pitch, since the players are liable to bring along a jukebox with a huge amplifier. But what they play mainly consists of rap and punk rock, and some of the lyrics are inappropriate things that I wouldn't want anybody under the age of thirteen to hear. When I'm working at my desk at home, the sounds drifting through the windows can be deeply annoying.

I contrast this with the mornings, and with the sweet, melodious notes of my sister's exceptional violin and viola playing, which I'm privileged to listen to every day as she practises. I've have now rediscovered how touching and moving pieces such as Max Bruch's Violin Concerto No.1 and Tchaikovsky's Nocturne, Op 19, No.4, are, to the extent that they have brought me close to tears.

I suppose, then, that this is something I may be grateful for, as June draws ever closer, and with it the prospect of summer - normally a time for festivals, singing and celebrating worldwide, but now unfortunately reduced. Classical music, that well-distilled language of human souls, brings serenity, peace, and joy, in contrast to the harsh, conflicting themes of what the football players listen to. I sincerely hope that, with fears growing about classical music's ability to survive during this difficult period, it endures the lockdown and springs forth rejuvenated when this is over.

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