When it comes to instrumental music, Eric Tingstad is among the most cinematic composers in contemporary music. So tangible, his music conjures images as individual as the listener. Reviewers and critics typically don’t insert personal experience into what they’ve got to say about music. But a segment on NPR the other day gave me an idea to encourage Tingstad’s fans to write short descriptions of images certain tunes inspire. Like a diary in reverse, we can all create the pictorial content and a personal review for the soundtrack Eric so eloquently provides through the music he produces.
Like sharing music in our living rooms, sharing our stories brings us all closer together. Send all your stories to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll post them all together. Posse up!
For me, Dripping Springs, from Tingstad’s latest CD, Badlands is a soundtrack to a memory of growing up as one of 11 girls, all daughters of five guys who owned the Landless Cattle Company. Not one of them had a son, and they leased land to raise feed for cows and horses they raised on gentlemen’s ranches in Oregon.
Every August all us girls would saddle up and ride into the wilderness along the Pacific Crest Trail for a week with our dads. We ate food we’d never touch at home, picked huckleberries for pancakes, raced our horses on narrow trails, swam in freezing cold lakes, washed and dried our Levis on the rocks, slept using our saddles for pillows under the stars, then get up and do it all over again.
The tempo in Dripping Springs is much like the gait of a horse making its way across a meadow, desert, or mountain trail. In perfect time, texture, and color, whenever I hear this tune, I’m immediately transported to the early 1970s on horseback to a place that is still pristine and wild.
Rob Prout sent this in: