My best guess is that I have listened to Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D (and minor variations on it) at least 10,000 times, and possibly as many as 20,000 times. It is one of three bits of music that I associate strongly with a particular event in my life, and one of four that I associate strongly with a particular person. It is a piece of music that I associate with a time when my mind and life became less chaotic.
Apparently it is unusual for a cellist to like Pachelbel's Canon, because the cello part is rather repetitive. But I think that may actually be part of what first made me like it. I remember being in orchestra in 7th grade and hearing the violins playing it and thinking that it sounded nice, but I didn't know what they were playing. The first time that the entire class played it, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that I was playing real music. This probably would have come as less of a surprise if the cello part had not been fairly uninteresting.
It was several years later that I found out that it was a popular piece of music, and often played at weddings. It has always seemed like the perfect love song to me. The music itself is a love story. It starts off slowly and kind of awkwardly, and as you listen to it you're thinking "Is this ever going to go anywhere? Is this actually what I wanted?" Then it slowly starts to pick up and come together. The first lonely part calling out is joined by another. It starts to move a little bit faster and become more interesting, but then falls back to uncertainty again. It makes progress towards an interesting melody, but only in fits and starts. There are repeated attempts to develop the melody, but none of them are sustained for long. You start to get the feeling that maybe this isn't going to go anywhere.
And then, in a way that seems very sudden (and yet also seems like it took forever to reach), everything falls into place. It becomes perfect and exciting, almost overwhelming. And then the melody repeats and is doubled up to become stronger and better.
As the primary melody repeats a few times, it starts to seem a little repetitive. But each time is slightly different. And while the primary melody is what most people like most, it is the rest of the music that I like best. It repeats over and over again, with just a minor variation each time. It echoes and repeats, sounding like it is longing for what it used to be, while transforming into something that is even better.
This past Valentine's day, Mira went to the ER with what appeared to be meningitis. I left work early to pick her up at the doctor's office, drive her to the hospital, and watch our children. On the bus, there was a young couple that seemed to be unable to go more than 5 seconds without some kind of physical contact. As I sat on the bus, I was thinking about the difference between new love, where people want to be together because it is new and exciting and they don't know what will happen or even what they want to have happen, and old love, like how I wanted to be with Mira because she needed me and because I needed her, and because we do know what we want to have happen. Because our lives are so integrated that we are in some ways a part of each other.
And that is the music of Canon in D. It starts off slowly and uncertainly, with all the parts seeming to move about randomly, full of excitement but without any clear direction. Then it all comes together and becomes fully integrated into one beautiful part. And then it repeats in a way that is clearly following a pattern without being monotonous or boring. The same thing over and over again, but never actually the same. Echoes of the past tied together with visions of the future.
