Album: DivenireAvg rating:
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Total ratings: 5062
Length: 6:38
Plays (last 30 days): 1
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My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
What a beautiful story.
There is a songbird out my window and I swear he is a RP listener and is playing along with this piece.
Wow, I just watched a poignant film last night featuring songbirds and Ludovico Einaudi. Broken Wings
I like your word of the day. Cute.
I stand by my comment, and tbh, this tune is what you'd teach a first year piano student. *yawn*
I look forward to hearing the first piano composition from you and all the rest of the "this music is trivial" commenters.
I like your word of the day. Cute.
I stand by my comment, and tbh, this tune is what you'd teach a first year piano student. *yawn*
...but could a first year student compose it in the first place? Isn't the creation and originality the key to any song? Look at the stars, they all shine for you...
Plays (last 30 days): 2
Q: Why are you so damned innumerate?
A: Because you are a troll?
I like your word of the day. Cute.
I stand by my comment, and tbh, this tune is what you'd teach a first year piano student. *yawn*
Logged in to rate it - already a 9...
LLRP
Moricone to Einaudi. Only on RP.
What a beautiful story....
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
Yes, but if you put your heart into it, you can improve
I Agree! Same here!
SO
BOR ING
Yes, but if you put your heart into it, you can improve
I know, I know. Everyone live it. I'll see myself out...
Connects emotionally, for me, guess I'm boring. Happily so.
Let's bury the negative folks who hate this song. It's utterly sublime and beautiful and inspiring.
Your definition of sublime goes against the whole story of aesthetics.
Beautiful and boring.
More boring than beautiful.
I was slightly depressed, this song helped my decision making: after hearing it I want to kill myself.
Every time I listen to it, it just gets worse.
I was slightly depressed, this song helped my decision making: after hearing it I want to kill myself.
Can I have your stereo?
It is just like this song, very touching.
very sorry for the loss of your friend. Been there. I helped my best friend die in 2009 from cancer. Never quite have been the same since. Music definitely was a big part of our lives and our final moments together.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
I read this everytime this song plays on RP and it touches me everytime.
There are a few songs in life that I associate most strongly with a comment from social media. This is now another. Thanks to the OP for sharing.
BOR ING
Honestly. Gorgeous is not boring. Neither is sublime.
BOR ING
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
With that story, you can be writing scripts for Pixar movies.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
If ever there was a soundtrack to a beautiful story, this is it.
I rate this song an 8, then read this story and bumped it up to a 9. (=
Liz, you know wazzup, and I admire what you wrote. The bumping up of a rating over in the reply of another's words, seems so very weak. I don't rate. But if I did, I'm certain I would stick with what I knew from the get go.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
I rate this song an 8, then read this story and bumped it up to a 9. (=
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
A touching story. Music is like a covalent bond, I goes deep, deeper than we know.
My rating: 10- G O D L I K E
Not quite godlike for me, but a very solid 9
My rating: 10- G O D L I K E
Illuminati confirmed
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
I read this everytime this song plays on RP and it touches me everytime.
Vivaldi? It's Quattro Stagioni alright, but with way too much cheese on the pizza.
I had this playing on RP in the background and it slowly grabbed my attention through its emotive force. Maybe you're directly listening like a critic, instead of feeling as a naive listener allowing for original impact instead of comparisons.
... and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
If you're listening today, WonderLizard, know that your comment was eloquent and moving. Hope your memories are pleasant.
Vivaldi? It's Quattro Stagioni alright, but with way too much cheese on the pizza.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
to Europe . I 'm still here 27 years later, an older and wiser man, and joyous to still be in the throes of the kind of emotion that Einaudi's music evokes.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
WonderLizard wrote:
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
HE'S innumerate? 2 plays in the last 30 days - and the comment to which you're responding is over a YEAR old.
HE'S a troll??
While you were at it, you probably should have gigged him for labeling a question as an answer.
Plays (last 30 days): 2
Q: Why are you so damned innumerate?
A: Because you are a troll?
HE'S innumerate? 2 plays in the last 30 days - and the comment to which you're responding is over a YEAR old.
HE'S a troll??
Plays (last 30 days): 2
Q: Why are you so damned innumerate?
A: Because you are a troll?
From this song's info: Plays (last 30 days): 1
What do you define as a significant length of time?
I do NOT agree
Help me out here, please - in what way was it "seamless"?
That was a beautiful segue.
mojcamojca77 wrote:amazing story! Thank you for sharing.
I doubt that inducing an orgasm was what "Ludi" had in mind when composing and recording this zippy, little ditty.
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
amazing story! Thank you for sharing.
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
Makes me love this piece even more....
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
Beautiful and sad story, thanks for sharing. I will think of your friend whenever I hear Divenire...
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
Thank you for sharing your moving and poignant story.
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
That is an amazing story, as sad as it is. I'm hearing this for the first time and it sounds like a soundtrack to his last year.
Thank you so much for sharing such a heartfelt memory.
Its loik listenin te Chaz n Dave innit?
Leave it aht, john. You're 'avin a larff, intcha?
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
My best friend took a trip to Italy in 2014. He begged me to go along with him—sort of fulfilling a promise we’d made to each other years ago—but I couldn’t swing the time. While he was there, he met a young woman, an aide to his project. She needed a father figure to mentor her, and he needed, well, someone to love. His emails were full of her. I’d seldom witnessed him so smitten. They parted friends, and stayed in contact after his return home. Then he found out he had Stage 4 small cell lung cancer—six months, tops.
I went out to see him, and we went on a guy’s jag for a few days, as was our wont—food, drink, and what have you, leaving the womenfolk at home. He was well into his second round of chemo and was a wreck. Still, every evening he spent his time emailing his Italian friend, preoccupied to the point of distraction. Finally, I said, “We need some music here,” and put on Divenire, conveniently on my iPod.
He looked up, astonished, “How did you know that’s what I wanted to hear?” I didn’t; it was a guess. Ludovico was one of the things she’d taught him.
He died the following March, and a day does not go by that I don’t miss him, my friend of fifty years, and there isn’t a time that I hear Divenire that I’m not reminded of his unlikely love for a beautiful young woman, and her love for him.
Very cool...
Yes indeed.
I can relate as mine passed this last August.
For us it was George Winston, December.Thank you for sharing your story.
Very cool...
Two stories about this album........
First heard this on RP and purchased album in early 2010 while we were planning a family trip to Italy in October 2010. Loaded on my mp3 player and bought a nice SoundMatters Speaker. Played it in the evenings and the family loved it! Fit the settings we were traveling in just right. Great memories.
Second. My father started having some real health issues in 2010 related to diabetes. Lost his lower right leg and couldn't drive his beloved 1986 ASC McLaren convertible anymore. He asked if I wanted it, but I wasn't in a position financially. My wife and I took a few weeks off the next several months and helped around my parents house to put in grab bars, extra handrails at stairs, etc. so he could get around on his new prosthetic leg easier. Well when we were up in the summer of 2011 for the next round of work on the house, I talked to dad about purchasing the car, though I still didn't have much money for such a luxury. He and mom "insisted" that they sell me the car for a fair price. Toward the end of the week I couldn't get an answer on what was a fair price and when we went to the bank to notarized the signing over title, he said that they would only let me buy for one dollar! Totally shocked and after a ten minute argument/discussion, I agreed. Pulling out my wallet to make it "official", I realized I had absolutely no cash so I rummaged through my console and found four quarters. I shipped the car to NC and had it tuned up and such and it has been running great since. I took it up to visit them in early October 2012 and was able to take my dad for several rides. The time was priceless. The first ride I had Divenire playing and he thought it was great and wanted to keep listening to it. I bought it for him for Christmas that year. Unfortunately he passed this last October, but what a great memory. I always think of him when any Einaudi is played and every time I drive the car................
Thanks for indulging me in this little story, it was very cathartic.............
Thank you for sharing your story.
Such peace beauty and majesty.
safe journeying.
Two stories about this album........
First heard this on RP and purchased album in early 2010 while we were planning a family trip to Italy in October 2010. Loaded on my mp3 player and bought a nice SoundMatters Speaker. Played it in the evenings and the family loved it! Fit the settings we were traveling in just right. Great memories.
Second. My father started having some real health issues in 2010 related to diabetes. Lost his lower right leg and couldn't drive his beloved 1986 ASC McLaren convertible anymore. He asked if I wanted it, but I wasn't in a position financially. My wife and I took a few weeks off the next several months and helped around my parents house to put in grab bars, extra handrails at stairs, etc. so he could get around on his new prosthetic leg easier. Well when we were up in the summer of 2011 for the next round of work on the house, I talked to dad about purchasing the car, though I still didn't have much money for such a luxury. He and mom "insisted" that they sell me the car for a fair price. Toward the end of the week I couldn't get an answer on what was a fair price and when we went to the bank to notarized the signing over title, he said that they would only let me buy for one dollar! Totally shocked and after a ten minute argument/discussion, I agreed. Pulling out my wallet to make it "official", I realized I had absolutely no cash so I rummaged through my console and found four quarters. I shipped the car to NC and had it tuned up and such and it has been running great since. I took it up to visit them in early October 2012 and was able to take my dad for several rides. The time was priceless. The first ride I had Divenire playing and he thought it was great and wanted to keep listening to it. I bought it for him for Christmas that year. Unfortunately he passed this last October, but what a great memory. I always think of him when any Einaudi is played and every time I drive the car................
Thanks for indulging me in this little story, it was very cathartic.............
More Nick, si'l vous pait, Bill and Melinda
What fine words.
You're right.
It' s background music for places where you don' t want to hear any music.
oh help! i'm starting to like "pseudo classical rubbish" music as well now am i ?
sirtezza wrote:
There, fixed that for you!
The Romantic Era is alive and well!