Thu, 25 Feb 2010 11:16:27 +0000

Well. I’m sitting in the library right now. At Dalhousie university. In Halifax. In Canada. On the world. This spot though? It is indeed wonderfully special.
I am sitting in the music resource room. I am surrounded by 80 year old carpentry and awful concrete walls. But that’s by no means why I love it here. This library is “interesting” in and of itself. It was designed by some silly man who decided that the light of day wasn’t particularly important to the studious educate. He decided that all windows should face into the overbearing atrium that rises like a 10 story column in the center of this building, leading to a glass roof that was, as can be seen by its construction, a definite afterthought. My mother went to Dalhousie as well, and one of the most memorable stories was her recollection of how because of this giant , central, vertical chasm the wind would blow up from the small entrance during the winter and all the snow would slowly drift upwards. It would actually snow Up. A wonderful thought I think, but not even the most important part of this monolith of a concrete structure.
This resource room is one of the only windowed rooms in the library, making it a sanctuary for all those who know about its location. It also faces westwards over a small water inlet, called the arm, with wooded hills beyond that. Every evening this room is filled with a warm glowing light, cast over the hill, from the drowsy setting sun. We sit and bask in all the glory it has to offer, while filling our already overflowing noggins with information that we will likely never use again. This though? Still not the most impressive part of this most impressive room. What does set this room apart from any other are the roughly 15000 vinyl records, the 900 odd CDs and about 89 tapes. These are here, beside me, to fill my very soul with song and music. These numberless stacks are filled with every type of lyrical and musical wonder that a mere student could ever even dream of. Countless folk and banjo albums that likely exist nowhere else, limitless operas that I will never have the pleasure of seeing and insurmountable collections of classical composers, who without the aid of this Oasis of a room, would otherwise go unheard by my still exploratory auditory pallet. Given a lifetime devoted solely to this one room in this tiny city, I would likely never be able to hear it all. Once even wouldn’t do composers like Mahler and Strauss justice! Holst would be underappreciated and Verdi would feel unloved. Their quietly turning records calming the minds of overworked students for years past and many more to come. If you look hard you can find records cast from ceramic, heavy and cold. Totally foreign to anything that someone living in my generation has ever seen. You imagine the flamenco guitarist’s fingers dancing across the strings as he serenades a woman in the most silken of languages. As her cheeks blush from his advances he plucks a tune to woo her even further. There is a lost romanticism with the music of today. There is heart in some of the more independent bands, but the mainstream has left its soul behind. Salivating at the prospect of riches and fame. This room feels none of that. there are images of violins and Glen Gould. There are pictures of opera houses to keep you company on your trip through education. There are original Oscar Wilde texts in a locked case in the corner. The faint smell of molding paper and a brilliant orange carpet are all throwbacks from a time that no longer exists. Smells and sights that one would have to spend millions trying to emulate, while it only took collection and time to accomplish it here.
This room is irreproducible. This room is a haven. This room is free for all those bold enough to explore the further reaches of the library. This room is a closely guarded secret that lies in plain sight. If people weren’t so blinded by their daily lives, they would realize it too. They would be the better for it, but I suppose I don’t do too much to help this cause. I tell friends who would appreciate the wonderment of it all, but I do not advertise. The discovery of this room is adventure enough in itself. Ill leave it up to the rest to find it for themselves.
When they do, I’m sure they will love it as much as I have over these past years. Here I sit, wholly regretting my departure from this secret musical garden.
Goodbye old Friend.
I’ll come visit, I promise.