Descriptions from SCORE 6. CLIMB

DESCRIPTION ONE

By John Purser - 7 June 2007 - On top of Ben Meabost, Isle of Skye, Scotland, UK.

There was no number in the air.
The human silence was only broken by a gentle whistle.
The whistle was made to hold the attention
Of a distant stag pausing also to listen,
But without giving an answer.
But there was an answer through the filigree of lark song
A few gentle whistles on a single note
The call of a Golden Plover

Pitch perfect in the sweet loneliness

Of the first unwritten score.

DESCRIPTION TWO

by David Balfe - 7 June 2007 - On top of Ben Meabost, Isle of Skye, Scotland, UK.

I try to hear The17, all I hear is my mind. It says–

The great masses of the mountains are a music of their own, not the mathematical harmonies of the music of the spheres, but synaesthetic – those sheer blocks of stones are their own unheard sound.

Then I think of the Wagnerian Romantics that sought to capture these brooding magnificent presences, but I don't want to go there, to other music.

I try to get back to a fresh, empty mind to see what music might emerge into that silence. I quiet myself and listen. I hear the low rushing whistle of the wind through the grass and the stone cairn, I hear the distant pealing of birdsong, but nothing of The 17.

And then I become aware of my arrogance, and the sheer impertinence of man's pitiful creativity that could imagine his own music worthy of even idle contemplation when all he should be doing is worshipping the infinitely superior products of the original great creator.

Though many have used music to worship.

Maybe music by The17 should be music so humble as to question its own worthiness to exist?

No I'm wrong – a great song is the equal of a mountain range; a great songwriter the equal of any god.

Music may have been born out of man's attempt to recreate – in lowly places and dark hours - some mystical connection with the grandeur of all this. To recreate some morsel of nature's beauty when it has been cruelly removed by the night, or the oppression of crude and mundane civilisation.

Is music something sucked out of us by the vacuum of beauty's absence?

Or maybe music, for all its supposed virtue, actually is merely a product of man's pride. Born out of our insolent urge to compete with nature, or merely to impress our fellow man, or potential mates.

Or is it magic?

Or just what happens?

Or …?

But The17 is many people – ask a group of people what happens when they act together, not a single man what he thinks alone. This sublimely magnificent landscape forces me to contemplate myself as an insignificant individual. The17 is social.

In the end the mountains, the blue sea, the lochs, the bright sky, the awesome clarity of so much undigestible beauty is all too much. I can’t think about anything else. Put me in the dark and ask again.

I tried to hear The 17, all I heard was my mind dribbling as usual. Wait, is that The 17?

DESCRIPTION THREE

By Roger Marroquin - 13 May 2008 – On top of Cerro Alux, near San Lucas Sacatequez, Guatemala.

Natural Sincronia

mientras me abro paso rumbo arriba
y el viento se lleva mis temores
rodeado de cientos e intensos verdes
sintiendo la voz de la naturaleza susurrar a mi oido... preparando el "escenario"
encantado con una gran sensacion de tranquilidad.

Finalmente en la cima
mi mente y mi espiritu estan tan conectados
a esta enorme grandeza de naturaleza
como una consola humana.
diferentes frecuencias me invaden
empiezo este mantra, jimiendo solo la letra "M"

Derrepente ,despues de un minuto o un poco mas
abro mis ojos y todo a lo que dirijo mi vista
esta en perfecta armonia y ritmo con el sonido que produzco:
las hojas, las flores , hasta las piedras.

Esto es tan elevado y tan profundo
tan extraño..... tan pacifico

no estoy mas dentro de mi cuerpo
estoy danzando con el viento...
en una Sincronia natural.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION:

As i open my way up
And the wind blows my fears away
Surrounded by hundreds of intense different greens
Feeling the voice of nature whispering in my ear.... preparing the "stage".
Enchanted with a deep sense of tranquillity.

Finally at the top.
My mind and my spirit are now so connected
To this enormous grandeur of nature,
Like a human console.
Different frequencies invade me.
I started this mantra, humming just the "M"
Suddenly after a minute or so,
I open my eyes and everything i looked to,
Was in perfect harmony and balance with the sound I’m producing
The leaves, the flowers, even the stones...
This goes so high and so deep
So strange.... so peaceful
I’m no more inside my body,
I’m dancing with the wind....
In a natural synchronicity.

DESCRIPTION FOUR

by Tony Whitehead - Dawn 5 September 2008 - Bellever Tor, Dartmoor, Devon, UK

The wind whips around the tor,
tracing its sound
in the lines and
fissures of the granite.

It shapes the rocks.
Gives them a unique voice

...

I hear a choir
Holding a note.

Air forced out from the lungs,
tracing its sound
in the folds of the throat,
mouth and nasal cavity.

It shapes the choir.
Gives it a unique voice.

...

I listen now without thought.

Simply sit and let these sounds be.

Their harmonies and dissonance.
Their intensities.
Their movement.
All at once,
without the burden
of imagination, memory, experience,
myth or history.

Just air moving.

This is the sound of the 17