The History of Sound (2025)
Director: Oliver Hermanus
Screenplay: Ben Shattuck
Based on: The History of Sound by Ben Shattuck
Stars: Paul Mescal, Josh O’Connor, Chris Cooper
Release dates: May 21, 2025 (Cannes); September 12, 2025 (United States)
Plot: In 1917, New England Conservatory music student Lionel Worthing meets fellow student David White at a pub, where they instantly bond over their love of folk music before returning to David’s apartment to have sex. As the two become closer, America gets involved in World War I, David is drafted and Lionel, who is ineligible due to his eyesight, returns to his home state of Kentucky when the conservatory closes. He sets music aside to tend to his family’s farm after his father dies suddenly.
In 1919, Lionel receives a letter from David notifying him of his return from Europe, his employment in a Maine college and a department-funded trip across the state to collect folk songs on wax cylinders before inviting Lionel to accompany and assist him. The two reunite and travel around, capturing various folk songs from various walks of life and renewing their relationship. Eventually, they part ways again as David must return to work and Lionel plans to travel to Europe. Lionel corresponds with David via letters, only to stop writing after a year as he never receives a response.
In 1923, Lionel, now living in Rome, tells his lover Luca of his dissatisfaction singing in a local choir and of his taking a job at the University of Oxford, ending their relationship on bad terms. A year later, Lionel serves as conductor for the school’s choir and is involved with student socialite Clarissa Roux, who invites him to meet her family at their country manor. During the trip, Lionel becomes overwhelmed with memories of David. The relationship with Clarissa also abruptly ends when Lionel must suddenly return to the United States to comfort his dying mother.
After putting his family’s affairs in order, Lionel travels to Maine to find David, only to learn from a colleague that David had died some time after their trip and that his department never actually commissioned the trip, leaving the location of the wax cylinders unknown, before recommending Lionel get in touch with David’s widow Belle. After meeting her family, Belle reveals she knows who Lionel is, how she and David became involved and how David’s death was a suicide as a result of shell shock from the war, returns his letters and tells him she will send him the cylinders if they can be found. Lionel mourns David by visiting his favorite locations from youth and recounting a number of songs that endeared him to music, particularly “The Unquiet Grave”.
In 1980, Lionel, now an ethnomusicologist, is promoting his newest book when a package containing the wax cylinders arrives on his doorstep, including one made on the day of David’s death. On the recording, David apologizes to Lionel and thanks him for their time together before singing “Silver Dagger,” the song Lionel sang to David when they first met.
* * *
The History of Sound (2025) | Transcript
[Narrator] My father said it was a gift from God.
[Delicate, melancholic string music]
[Gentle trickling of water]
How I could see music.
[Low piano notes join]
How I could name the note my mother coughed every morning. What the dog across the field was barking, the key of the springtime frogs. Shape, color. I thought everyone could see sound. Yellow for D.
[Birds sing]
[Insects chirp]
Tastes too. My father would play a B minor, and my mouth went bitter.
[Music continues]
It never occurred to me that music was only sound.
[Man sings American folk ballad Across the Rocky Mountain ]
[Music fades]
♪ Across the rocky mountain
♪ I walked for miles and miles
♪ Say, I’ll never forget
my mother’s looks
♪ God bless her sweetly smile
♪ There was an old, rich farmer
♪ Who lived in the neighborhood by ♪
[Woman joins, harmoniously] ♪ He had
One lonely daughter
♪ On her I cast my eye… ♪
[Singing subsides]
[Narrator] The town’s music teacher noticed my singing. She wrote her friend in Boston, a professor… which is how I left the farm.
[Singing and violin conclude]
A scholarship to the New England Conservatory.
[Delicate piano note; Indistinct, lively chatter]
[Inaudible dialogue]
[Single, emphatic piano note; Delicate humming]
[Man at piano sings Across the Rocky Mountain ]
♪ Across the rocky mountain
♪ I walked for miles and miles ♪
[Chatter subsides, singing becomes distinct]
[In a muffled voice] Lionel?
♪ I walked for miles and miles ♪
I’m sorry, I know that song from home.
Excuse me.
♪ There was an old, rich farmer ♪
[Sparse piano notes]
♪ Who lived in the neighborhood by
♪ He had one lonely daughter
♪ On her I cast my eye
♪ She was most tall and handsome
♪ Blue eyes and curly hair
♪ There’s no one girl
♪ In the wide world
With her I could compare ♪
[Chatter resumes]
Where’d you learn that?
Some forest in England.
My father used to sing it back in Kentucky.
Did he?
David White.
Lionel Worthing.
What department?
Voice.
Well, falala.
Composition.
People here know songs like that?
[David] They don’t.
This is… a hobby in the summers.
Collecting tunes, ballads, songs.
Reminds me of home.
What else do you know?
More than you, likely.
Pretty Saro ?
Of course.
Fair Winter ?
“One went east, the other went west.”
How about…
Silver Dagger ?
No, I don’t think so.
Oh.
[David] Should I?
Well, it’s such a pretty song.
Well, come on. Let’s hear it.
What key?
[Lionel chuckles] Come on, what key?
I don’t usually sing like this, with…
With what?
With everyone talking.
[David] Oh.
Excuse me!
Quiet, please!
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.
[Chatter subsides]
Now you have to sing.
[People falls quiet]
You shy?
[Lionel sings Silver Dagger ]
♪ Don’t sing love songs
♪ You’ll wake my mother
♪ She’s sleeping here
Right by my side
♪ In her right hand, a silver dagger
♪ She says that I can’t be your bride
♪ All men are false ♪
[David plays soft piano notes]
♪ So says my mother
♪ They’ll tell you wicked,
loving lies
♪ The very next evening
They’ll court another
♪ Leave you alone to pine and sigh
♪ My daddy is a handsome devil
♪ He’s got a chain five miles long
♪ And on every link
a heart does dangle
♪ Of another maid
He’s loved and wronged ♪
[Low murmuring;
Piano notes stop]
♪ Don’t sing love songs
♪ You’ll wake my mother
♪ She’s sleeping here
Right by my side
♪ In her right hand, a silver dagger
♪ She says that
I can’t be your bride ♪
[Chatter resumes]
[Delicate, tender string music]
Okay.
Sit here.
Sing me all the songs you know.
[Lionel] David had a thousand songs in his head.
[Inaudible dialogue]
A photographic memory, you might call it today. He could play a song note-for-note after hearing it once.
[Men sing cheery folk song]
♪ Oh, I like to rise
When the sun she rises
♪ Early in the morning
♪ I like to hear
them small birds singing
♪ Merrily upon their laylums
♪ Hurrah for the life
of a country boy
♪ For to ramble in the new-mown hay ♪
[Singing concludes, resonates]
[Footsteps nearby;
Glasses and plates tinkle] Another drink?
I’m tired.
Bed. Walk me home.
[They converse indistinctly;
Birdsong]
[They laugh]
[Conversation continues]
Come in. Have some water.
[Door closes]
Sorry. I only have one clean glass.
[Hoof beats in the distance]
Come here.
Come on.
[Steady breathing]
[Indistinct voices in the distance]
[Bell tolls]
[Bell tolls in the distance;
Vehicles rumble]
[He hums a delicate melody]
[David sings melancholic folk ballad]
♪ The wind doth blow
♪ Today, my love
♪ With a few small drops of rain ♪
[Rain patters, softly]
♪ I never had
♪ But one true love
♪ And she in the cold grave
was lain ♪
Never mind. It’s too long.
Keep singing, please.
I’ll teach you the rest later.
What’s it about?
A man, sitting on a gravestone, not letting his dead lover rest.
She gets annoyed by all his weeping, tells him to just leave her alone, let her be dead.
[Singing resumes] ♪ Oh, who is this
♪ That sits on my grave
♪ And will not let me sleep? ♪
She tells him to enjoy life while he has it, to go away.
It’s a good lesson.
[Lionel] Where’d you learn it?
My uncle and I learned it on one of our song-collecting in England.
And why were you there again?
You’re asking a lot of questions so early in the morning.
[They chuckle]
I told you everything about myself.
I don’t even know where you grew up.
You don’t?
Newport.
After my parents died, I lived with my uncle Silas outside London for a few years.
I was eleven. Twelve maybe.
You were an orphan?
That’s a dramatic way to put it.
I was momentarily unparented.
Silas was surprised by his newfound fatherhood.
He was determined to make me happy, duty and all.
The English love duty.
He noticed I was spending all day singing the songs his maid taught me.
She must have said something to him about my asking her for songs.
I was an obsessive boy, severely annoying, I’m sure.
I would go around the village asking people to sing me songs and I’d write them in a book.
Embarrassing.
It all grew from there.
Silas taking me on trips through the countryside, first around Surrey, during the summers to the Lake District.
Ireland one summer.
He started to be more interested in song-collecting it than I was.
And where’s he now?
Dead. Yes.
Fever of some kind.
Which is why I’m back here.
Inheritance of my parents’ Newport house, a dislike of English weather, etc., etc.
I’m sorry.
For what?
[Lionel] Your uncle and your parents.
You don’t have any other family?
Everyone you know is going to die, you know that.
I have to go.
I’m busy tonight.
Next week?
[Door opens]
[Romantic, uplifting string music]
[Door closes]
[Music continues;
Inaudible dialogue and singing]
[Music continues; They laugh, loudly]
[Neighbour] Keep it down!
Sorry.
[Music swells]
Good night!
[Lionel] Shh!
[Music continues]
[Lionel breathes heavily]
[Music concludes on a somber tone]
[Lionel] When the draft came later that year, classes were disbanded. Maybe that was it, I thought. A handful of nights in one season.
[Door opens]
[Footsteps approach]
You’re going.
That’s what I’ve been told.
Suppose you never have to worry about the draft, thanks to these.
[David chuckles]
I leave this week to war.
Write.
Send chocolate.
Don’t die.
[Lionel sings melancholic folk ballad]
♪ Oh, the snow it melts the soonest
♪ When the winds begin to sing
♪ And the corn, it ripens fastest…
♪
[Lionel]
And so I went back to the farm spring of 1917, suddenly, regretfully.
[Singing resumes] ♪ Before we part
♪ I’d bet a crown
He’d be fain to follow it yet ♪
[Male voice joins, harmoniously] ♪ Oh
The snow it melts the soonest
♪ When the wind begins to sing
♪ And the swallow skims
Without a thought
♪ As long as it is spring
♪ But when spring blows
And winter goes
♪ Me lad, and you’ll be fain
♪ With all your pride for
to follow me
♪ Were it ‘cross the stormy main ♪
[Singing concludes]
[Thick thud]
[Woman, shouting] Get up!
[Lionel groans]
[Wind howls]
[Water flows with a gentle rush]
[Raindrops crackle delicately on the snow]
[Wind howls]
[Fire crackles]
[Woman breathes deeply]
[Wind howls, wood creaks]
What’s wrong?
What?
You’re unhappy.
No, I’m not.
[Lionel’s mother] You been like this since you come back.
You didn’t wanna come back.
I understand.
You shouldn’t have gone.
If you hadn’t gone, you wouldn’t have cared coming back.
[Woman coughs, laboriously]
You’re sick.
Just sing something.
Alright.
[He sings Across the Rocky Mountain ]
♪ Across the rocky mountain
♪ I walk for miles and miles
♪ Across the rocky mountain
♪ I walk for miles and miles ♪
[Door opens]
♪ Across the rocky mountain
♪ I walk for miles and miles
♪ Say,
I’ll never forget my mother’s looks
♪ God bless her sweetly smile ♪
[Cow moos]
♪ There was an old, rich farmer
♪ Who lived in the neighborhood by
♪ He had one lonely daughter
♪ On her I cast my eye ♪
[Water burbles on stove]
♪ She was most tall and handsome
♪ Blue eyes and curly hair ♪
[Birds sing]
♪ Oh, there’s no other girl
In this wide world
♪ With her I could compare ♪
[Song ends; Insects chirp]
[Lionel’s father] You ever seen this?
[Wind howls]
Let me try.
Like this, right?
Yeah.
[Howling fades]
[Lionel] Dad? Dad?
[Insects buzz]
[Woman sings sad folk ballad a cappella]
♪ Come all ye fair and tender ladies
♪ Take warning
how you court young men
♪ They’re like a bright star
♪ Of a summer’s morning
♪ They first appear
And then they’re gone ♪
[Indistinct chatter]
♪ They’ll tell to you
some pleasing story
♪ Declare to you they love you true
♪ I once did meet
a fair, true lover ♪
[Lively folk music plays faintly nearby]
♪ A true one too,
I took him to be ♪
[Somber, tense music joins]
♪ Then he went away
And found him another… ♪
[Lionel’s resonant singing joins]
[Voices merge in rich, layered harmony]
[Music swells, ethereal vocalizing joins]
[Music turns unsettling, obscures singing]
[Disjointed, chaotic voices overlap]
[He screams]
[Music and voices subside]
[High-pitched, muffled ringing]
[Music and ringing conclude; Door opens]
[Man] You look a bit sideways.
[Lionel]
You didn’t come to the funeral.
Dead is dead.
War in Europe over yet?
[Lionel] No.
Did I tell you about that charge in Antietam?
Billy Higgins was shot on his horse must have been ten times and kept riding?
Yeah, you told me.
What the hell was it all for?
Your grandmother was right about that.
Said we were all fools.
[Lionel] Shouldn’t give her that.
[Man] What?
[Lionel] Coffee.
It’s bad for her heart.
“Bad for her heart.”
Who the hell told you that?
Will Hall.
His dog died from eating a bag of coffee beans.
I’ll let you know when I feed her a bag of coffee beans.
[Insects chirp, wind howls]
[He sighs]
[Sparse, somber music]
[Music continues;
Footsteps approach]
[Music turns intriguing]
[David] My dear silver-throated confederate, I hope this note finds its way to you. How is life on the farm? As it stands, I return from my walking tour, you might say, in Europe. God help me. But the day is getting brighter. I have a position at Bowdoin College here in the evergreens of Maine. The department head thought it a fine idea if I was to record folk songs for department’s regionalist leanings in the boreal wilderness.
[Music continues; Birds squawk]
I have time off this coming winter. I can’t drag this talking sewing machine by myself. How about a long walk in the woods? The journey points north. Roaring fires, logging camps, birch beer, old songs. Meet me on the 1st of January at Augusta train station. Bring warm clothes. Don’t dally, just come. Yours, David.
[Music fades]
[Woman coughs]
[Wind howls]
[Wood creaks]
I’m leaving.
What?
Where?
To Maine, for a music project.
A music project?
Be gone for a month or so.
Maybe longer.
Maybe the spring too.
Is that what you think?
And who’s gonna keep this farm?
The farm will be fine.
You’ll be fine.
[Lionel’s mother] Pardon me?
I’ll be fine? Until the spring?
You come in with potatoes to tell me this?
I’m not leaving right now.
I can’t stay here alone.
Grandfather’s here.
And there’s food for weeks in the cellar.
Grandpa?
What use is he?
Some, maybe.
I’m just leaving for a while.
You already said that.
[Train rumbles]
[Indistinct chatter;
Rumbling fades] Sorry, excuse me.
[Woman] Thank you.
Welcome back.
Yeah, well…
Welcome to Maine.
That’s all you brought?
[Lionel] Mmhmm.
Don’t have much.
And a pillow.
It was a long trip.
I have the tent.
We need a few cooking pots.
I hope you like oats.
We’re sleeping outside?
[David] It’ll be fine.
We need more blankets.
I told you to bring warm clothes.
You look the same.
You look a little less thin.
[Lionel chuckles]
You didn’t get shot.
Yes, well, not yet.
You never sent chocolate.
My apologies, I was somewhat distracted.
[Steam train chugs, loud repetitive dings]
[Lionel chuckles]
[Lionel] What now?
We have 36 cylinders, the ancient machine the department sent me with.
First, we head north, then east, then south to the sea, along the coast to Augusta.
Around a hundred miles in all.
And you just walk up to someone and ask them for a song?
I’ll teach you to use this.
I’ll transcribe the lyrics.
What we’re looking for isn’t in towns.
You’ll find it out there.
First, we have to catch a train.
Grab that.
Now?
Now! Your train was late.
[Train puffs and hisses]
[Lionel] Where are we going?
Up north, out of the city.
Well, I thought you said we needed to buy food.
We got enough for a few days, then we’ll figure it out.
[Lionel] I haven’t eaten today.
[Hissing fades]
[Fire crackles in the background]
See this?
It’s made of wax, kind of like your candles there.
And this goes on here and it spins around.
Sound comes down this big horn here and it shakes this needle which cuts a line in the wax.
[Boy] How’s that catch the sound?
Well…
The sound is invisible, right?
But it can be physical.
It can touch something, it can make an impression.
If you had a magnifying glass, you’d see ridges in the wax like… like small hills.
Hills don’t make sound.
[Lionel chuckles]
Um…
Put your hand on your throat, now hum.
[They hum]
Can you feel something?
Like a vibration?
A little tickle.
[Lionel] Right.
That’s sound.
Something shaking the air, shaking something else.
Shaking the air?
[Lionel] Uh-huh.
When you wanna play the sound back, just have another needle on here, jumps over the ridges of sound and amplifies through this tube.
Will I feel something?
You won’t feel a thing.
[Cylinder whirs]
[She whispers] It’s on?
[Lionel] It is.
[She clears her throat]
[She sings melancholic folk ballad]
♪ Come, my soul, and let us try
♪ For a little season
♪ Every burden to lay by
♪ Come, and let us reason ♪
[Children join, harmoniously]
♪ What is this that casts thee down?
♪ Who are those that grieve thee?
♪ Speak, and let the worst be known
♪ Speaking may relieve thee
♪ What is this that casts thee down?
♪ Who are those that grieve thee?
♪ Speak, and let the worst be known
♪ Speaking may relieve thee ♪
[Singing concludes]
[Bird whistles]
[David whistles]
[Bird echoes whistle in the distance]
[Lionel whistles]
[Bird echoes whistle in the distance]
[Lionel whistles]
[David sings] ♪ What do you do? ♪
[Lionel joins, harmoniously]
♪ In April I open my bill
♪ In May, I sing night and day
♪ In June, I change my tune
♪ In July, far, far I fly
♪ In August
♪ Away
♪ I must ♪
[Singing ends; Emotive string music joins]
[Lionel] My grandfather once said that happiness isn’t a story.
[Rain patters, softly]
So there isn’t much to say about those first weeks.
[All sing cheerful folk song]
♪ We’ll be alright
If the wind was in our sails
♪ We’ll be alright
If the wind was in our sails
♪ And we’ll all hang on behind ♪
[Emotive music continues]
♪ We’ll roll the old chariot along ♪
[Music rises above singing]
[Music swells]
[Inaudible dialogue]
Go to sleep.
Hope you like climbing.
[Music continues]
[Music fades]
May I ask you something?
Why haven’t you said anything about the war?
Spent a long time in the trench, it was boring.
[Owl hoots]
Felt worse for the horses.
Saint Francis was nowhere to be found.
My grandfather talks about the war like it was the greatest time of his life.
[They laugh]
I wouldn’t say that.
What would you say?
It made everything dimmer, cold.
[Wind blows]
[Owl hoots]
[Birds call]
[Lionel] Where are we walking now?
[David] Towards the sea.
[Lionel] What’s there?
Malaga Island.
It’s been in the newspapers.
I read about it before you came.
Settled by slaves generations back.
Then Irish.
The governor’s evicting them.
How so?
State wants the land.
Why are we going?
[David] Poor immigrants and former slaves would make for strange old music, no?
[Lionel chuckles]
That doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable?
Why?
Where I come from, you don’t walk into a place like that.
You don’t have to do anything.
I’ll talk.
Don’t you get nervous?
I just make myself into what someone wants me to be.
It’s what Silas did.
You see a Bible on a woman’s lap and you want her to sing you a song, you’re now collecting songs in God’s name.
You see a half-empty bottle on the table and a man who hasn’t shaved in a week, get him to talk about his trouble.
I once saw Silas invent a stable of horses because a farmer was sad about his dead nag.
So it’s like lying then?
Making it easier for someone to be generous.
An invitation.
Works in all ways, not just songs.
Lying, if you want to call it that.
[Indistinct chatter]
Oh, thank you.
David White.
Will Swain.
And he, Lionel Worthing.
Musicians collecting songs.
Thank you, Will.
Who are you?
David White.
This is Lionel Worthing.
Academics on a song-collecting mission.
This is not the time.
We were just looking to record a song or two, posterity.
We have no songs for you.
What is it you do here?
A schoolteacher.
Lucky us! We’ll be publishing the songs in a booklet for schoolchildren.
Preserve America’s heritage all together.
A booklet?
Well, we could include your class.
I bet you have some fine young singers.
[Cylinder whirs]
[She sings delicate folk ballad]
♪ Here in the vineyard
♪ Of my Lord
♪ I hope to live and labor
♪ And be obedient to my God
♪ Until my dying hour
♪ I love to see the lilies grow
♪ And view them all astanding
♪ In the right place while here below
♪ Just as the Lord commanded ♪
[Singing ends]
Can I get some information?
Full name?
Thankful Mary Swain.
Born?
1891.
And song title?
Here in the Vineyard.
[Lionel and woman sing] ♪ Come
Come with me to the old churchyard
♪ I so well know these paths
‘Neath the soft green sward
♪ Friends slumber there
That we once did regard
♪ We will trace out their names
♪ In the old churchyard ♪
[Delicate, melancholic folk ballad]
♪ Mourn not for them
♪ For their trials are over
♪ Why weep for those
Who will weep no more?
♪ For sweet is their sleep…
[Music rises above singing]
[Singing dies down]
[Music continues]
[Music concludes]
Good morning.
The ground is frozen.
Sorry?
I got two children, three grandchildren buried out there in that graveyard.
And my wife.
I thought it would all just go away, the governor would find another project.
I wake up every morning, look across there, and I see nothing.
Same trees, same rocks, nothing coming.
But when they come, [Subtle, somber music] they’ll be coming from there.
[Music continues]
[Lionel] Thank you, Will.
[Bird calls]
[Indistinct chatter nearby]
[Indistinct conversation]
[David] We shouldn’t have left.
Wasn’t right.
What would you have done?
Don’t you feel bad?
We didn’t say anything, we just walked away.
The law is bigger than us.
But it’s wrong.
[Lionel] I know this.
Maybe you don’t understand.
I don’t understand?
[Lionel] You didn’t grow up where I did.
Step in front of the police, they hurt you, kill you.
What does it matter where you grew up?
Maybe you don’t always know how things work is all I’m saying.
You have no idea what I know, what I’ve seen, about how things work.
[Music continues;
Insects chirp]
[Music fades]
[Birds squawk]
[Footsteps approach]
[Lionel hums]
You did that?
[Lionel] I did.
Why?
[Lionel mumbles]
Thanks.
You’re going home after we finish?
I’d go anywhere else, but I don’t have any money.
[David] You could go back to the Conservatory.
Teach, I’m sure.
Lessons.
There’s an ocean of parents in Boston with too much to spend.
Is there any jobs at your college?
You’d hate it there. Small town.
Well, I could help catalog the cylinders.
I’ll just get a student to do it for me.
You got a whole life ahead of you.
A bigger life.
Why do you want to stay here anyway?
If I had what you had, I’d leave.
I’d go sing somewhere…
New York.
Europe, Paris, Rome.
I’d go far away, flee.
Make money.
Money’s good.
[Birds squawk]
[Delicate, somber vocalizing]
[Inaudible dialogue;
Vocalizing continues]
[Faint, cheerful violins music]
[Vocalizing continues]
[Indistinct chatter and laughter]
[Vocalizing continues]
[Vocalizing fades]
This summer?
Sure.
[Indistinct chatter and footsteps nearby] Really?
Sure.
In case you need anything.
That was a nice way to explain it.
What?
Sound.
[David hums melancholic folk ballad]
[Train approaches; Humming stops]
[Loud repetitive dings]
[Locomotive whistles]
[Lionel breathes shakily]
[Train chugs]
[He exhales shakily]
[Bell tolls]
[Birds sing]
[Footsteps in the distance]
[Rain patters, softly]
[Lionel]
I sent David a letter every month since our trip ended. They all went unanswered. I stopped writing sometime in spring of 1921.
[Solemn, harmonious choral singing]
[Singing continues]
[Singing fades]
[In Italian] Ciao. Ciao. [In English] That’s it.
[Solemn orchestral music; Ethereal choral singing]
[Indistinct conversations]
[Women murmur in prayer]
[Children yell, joyfully;
Music continues]
[They converse in Italian]
[Lionel, in Italian] They aren’t the right songs. I don’t know why.
Just sing the songs.
[Music fades] You coming to Venice this weekend?
I need to tell Luisa.
I don’t think so. No.
Why not?
I’ll show you the Venice I know.
Come.
I don’t know.
Maybe.
What’s wrong?
You seem distracted.
I’m bored.
I’m boring you?
No, not you.
I’m just bored with this work.
This choir.
You’re in the most prestigious choir in the most beautiful city.
So?
What do you mean, “so”?
[In English] I’ve been offered a position in England.
England?
[Lionel] Mmhmm.
I think I might take it.
I… I’ve been here too long.
[In Italian] You think you might take it?
[In English] Yeah, I’ve said yes.
Summers are too hot here and… and it’s a good offer.
Summers are too hot?
[Lionel] Mmhmm.
[In Italian] Where are you going?
You’re telling me you want to move away?
Yes.
[Glass thuds against table]
[In English] Good luck.
[In Italian] Beware of the American.
[He sighs]
[Choral singing resumes]
[He chuckles]
[Singing continues]
[Music swells]
[Ethereal choral singing fades]
[Men sing, harmoniously]
[Indistinct, lively chatter]
[Man] Beautiful work. Tremendous.
[Lionel] Thank you.
That was beautiful, Mr. Worthing.
You’ve quite a throng of admirers.
Thank you, darlin’.
You jealous?
Obviously.
Anyway, I’ve made a lunch for us.
Oh, yes?
What’s the occasion?
No occasion. A picnic lunch.
Sounds nice.
[Lionel] Oh!
[They laugh]
You are a pig!
I’m a rural farm boy.
It’s part of my charm.
I want to go to America one day, see this farm.
[Lionel] No, you don’t.
See, every European thinks that they want to go to America, but… believe me, things are better here.
Maybe they’re just better for you.
I was thinking…
[Lionel] Mmhmm?
…how about coming to my family’s home?
Next weekend.
My parents are dying to meet you.
It’s a pretty little place in the countryside.
[Lionel] Mmhmm.
I’m imagining a hovel with ivy and cobwebs.
[Woman] Ghastly.
Old, drafty, but it’s home.
And I love it.
Meeting your parents?
[Woman] Mm.
Well, I do think it’s time, yes?
Alright, sure.
I’d love to.
[Uplifting, emotive music;
She chuckles]
[Music continues]
[Woman] This way.
I thought you said your parents were Bohemians?
They are, in spirit.
Hello?
Mummy?
[Man] Darling, they’re here!
Such a pleasure to finally meet you.
The American songster.
It’s a pleasure.
No, no.
We are informal here.
Clarissa said so many sweet things about you.
Yes, you too.
Hello.
So naughty. Hello.
Come here.
Come in, please.
Thank you.
I abandoned my only child to greet you.
Really horrible, isn’t it?
[Music continues;
Moaning and panting] [Music fades;
Fire crackles] I love that.
It’s Orpheus.
[Lionel] Uh-huh.
[Clarissa] Your patron saint.
Would you sing your way into hell for me?
Of course.
Would you forgive me for looking back?
[Thunders rumble, rain patters]
Course not!
That’s typical man, distrustful, ruining things for the woman.
Is that the story?
It is.
Wait, is it?
[Lionel] Uh-uh.
No?
I thought he turned around to offer her a hand… help her out of the cave.
It was an honest mistake, punished.
No.
No, he doesn’t trust Hades to keep the promise.
[Lionel] Oh.
[She whispers] I think they like you.
[Lionel] Who?
My parents.
[Lionel chuckles] I like them too.
Good.
[Melancholic string arrangement of Across the Rocky Mountain ]
[Music continues]
[David] Can I ask you something?
[Lionel] Mmhmm.
[David] Do you ever think about… how you want your life to look?
[Lionel] Look? Like with music?
[David] No, like, like… wife, kids, family.
[Lionel] I like kids. Seems like it’s what people do.
[David] That’s what you want? Family?
[Lionel] I guess. I don’t know.
[Music continues; Wind blows]
You worry at all, what we’re doing?
[Lionel] What we’re doing?
You know, this.
[Lionel] No. I don’t worry.
[Wind blows]
I think I admire you.
[Music continues]
[He exhales deeply;
Music fades]
[Bell tolls in the distance]
[Indistinct, lively chatter]
Can I speak with you?
You’re so handsome when you’re out of breath.
My mother, she’s sick.
[Clarissa] Sick? What do you mean?
She’s dying.
My grandfather wrote.
I have to go home and see her.
I’m leaving.
When?
Going tonight, or the next day.
I’m sorry, I can’t leave her alone again.
University ends in a month.
I’ll come with you.
Let’s go together.
[Men converse indistinctly]
It’s just one month more.
I’m not staying.
[Subtle, unsettling music]
I see.
[She whispers]
You’re leaving, leaving?
Yes.
Well… tell me why.
I’m sorry, I…
No, I don’t want an apology.
[She breathes shakily]
You know what my mother wrote after we left the house?
What?
She said I should leave you… before you left me.
I want you to go.
[She sniffles]
[Music continues]
[Delicate piano notes join]
Mother?
[Music continues]
[Music continues]
[Music continues]
[Inaudible laughter]
[Birdsong]
[Music fades;
Faint folk singing]
[Man and woman sing] ♪ I had
A bottle of burgundy wine
♪ My true love, she did not know
♪ Was there I murdered
That dear little girl
♪ Down by the banks below
♪ I drew my saber through her
♪ Which was a bloody sight ♪
[Singing stops]
Can I help you?
Just out for a walk.
It’s Lionel.
Gosh.
Lionel Worthing?
It’s been ten years.
This is Lionel from over the hill.
We went to school together.
Thought you lived in the north.
And Europe, did I hear?
Yes, both.
Isabelle, this is a famous singer.
What are you doing back?
My mother died.
Yes, I’m sorry.
Please, keep singing.
[Isabelle] No.
Now I’m embarrassed.
Why don’t you sing? Let’s hear you.
[Lionel] No, I just wanna listen.
I like your voices.
Okay then.
[Isabelle clears her throat]
[Delicate, melancholic folk ballad]
♪ Down in the willow garden
♪ Where me and my love did meet
♪ There we set acourtin’
♪ My love fell fast asleep
♪ I had a bottle of burgundy wine
♪ My true love, she did not know… ♪
[Man] Let me get this straight, you left a fancy job where all you had to do was open your mouth and squawk a few notes, you come back to Kentucky to pick apples? Something is not adding up.
I guess not.
[Music continues, faintly] Whatever paints your fence, friend, but…
I’d leave the farm if I could do what you do.
I guess I feel like I’m at the end of something.
The end of something?
[Lionel] Mm.
What was the beginning?
I don’t know.
Probably when I was younger, in college up in Boston.
I don’t think I’ve been that happy in a long time.
[Isabelle]
My mother always used to say, “Life’s only troubles.
“You could get sad, or you could sing about it.”
What else did your mama say?
[Isabelle] Hmm…
“Don’t marry that son of a bitch, Nathan McCloud.”
[They laugh]
[Music continues;
Insects chirp] [Music concludes;
Gentle chuckles]
[Wind blows]
[Stirring, emotive string music]
[Music concludes]
Can I help you?
I’m looking for the music department?
Are you a tutor?
No. A friend of mine works there.
Just upstairs, second floor, down the hall.
Thank you.
[Elegant lyrical singing]
[Indistinct chatter]
‘Scuse me.
I’m looking for a friend.
David White, he’s an instructor here.
And who are you?
[Lionel] Lionel Worthing.
We were at the Conservatory together.
You know David?
I did.
[Faint footsteps and murmurs in the hallway] What?
Oh.
Well.
He passed away, years ago.
His… second year of teaching, I think.
That would’ve been 1920.
[Silence]
When did you last see him?
[Murmuring and footsteps resume]
It was on a song-collecting trip that… the department organized.
Song collecting?
[Lionel] Mmhmm, yeah.
Folk songs.
Recordings for the college.
I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.
The department commissioned David to do a song-collecting trip.
[Tutor] I don’t think so.
I was department head for years, I would’ve–
What about the cylinders?
Cylinders?
[Lionel] Yeah.
Maybe Belle could tell you more.
Who’s Belle?
[Tutor] His wife.
Ex-wife.
Or widow, I mean.
I’m sorry to be the one to deliver the news.
Thank you.
[Clock ticks]
[Footsteps approach]
I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong house.
I’m looking for Belle White.
Who are you?
Are you Belle?
Yes, I’m Belle Sinclair.
I’m a friend of David’s.
[Man 2] Who’s that?
It’s a friend of David’s.
[Lionel] Yes.
My shift’s soon.
Is dinner ready?
[Belle] Yes.
This is a bad time.
[Belle] Come in.
I need to feed Henriette.
No, no, thank you.
I was just looking for a box of wax cylinders.
[Man 2] Belle, I have to leave in 20 minutes.
Come in.
[Man 2] What are you looking for?
We made recordings of songs, on cylinders.
Trying to find them for research.
He didn’t tell me much about his work.
Check with the college, I’d say.
I did.
What sort of research is that?
I just keep a record of the songs people are singing.
Paid to have people yell down a tube.
Bob.
Seems like a nice life.
What’s your line of work, Bob?
Fire.
Fire.
My family’s been fighting fires since the town was founded.
Well.
It was good to meet you.
Yes, you too.
You okay here alone?
Of course.
Don’t do anything with my wife.
[Door bell chimes, door closes]
I’m going to put Henriette to bed.
I should go.
No, don’t go, please.
You’re busy. I should go.
[Belle] Stay.
I… I haven’t had company in months.
Just… stay a little longer, okay?
You don’t have to do that.
I’m sorry I never… wrote you back.
What?
Years ago, all those… letters you sent to David from Italy.
You read them?
I read all of David’s mail after he died.
You’re a fine writer.
Have you ever heard that before?
Are you gonna ask me how we met?
You haven’t asked me anything about me and David, I noticed.
I understand, I just thought you’d be more curious.
Well…
I’m sorry.
How did you two meet?
It was before he went to Conservatory.
It was when I was 13.
We had a house in Newport next to David’s parents’ house and he became friends with my brother, Henry.
Of course I was just obsessed with David.
Charming friend who lived alone in a seaside home.
But you know David, the world loved him.
And then he went to your school in Boston.
And then he came back for Thanksgiving, after… my brother had died in Ypres.
He came back to console my parents.
He said he had a teaching position in Maine.
And a few days after arriving, he asked me to marry him.
I don’t know why he did.
I was 18, I was a child compared to him.
He’d seen so much and I’d never left Newport.
He was…
[She sighs]
I didn’t see anything but him.
He was everything, I mean.
Then we moved here, but… things were not… fine.
Shell shock, you know.
It’s only, I noticed it too late.
He didn’t sleep, he didn’t… talk to me for days, sometimes.
And of course, that’s the winter you went off on your trip.
And then he… then he was just gone.
He left me here.
What were the circumstances of his death?
You must know.
No, I don’t.
He did it up there in his office.
[She exhales deeply]
I should probably go.
You wait here for a minute.
You can have these back.
And I’ll write to you if I find those cylinders.
Write your address here.
[Delicate, sorrowful music]
[Door opens]
[Door slams, door bell chimes]
[Music continues]
[David] If you could live anywhere, where would it be?
[Lionel] Sounds pretty nice where you were with your uncle.
I’ll take you there one day.
The Lake District.
I think you’d die, it’s so pretty.
The mountains…
Best voice I ever heard was there.
That’s including yours, by the way.
[Music continues]
This boy…
Town called Brackish, I think.
This boy’s voice was fit for the Pope and all the angels, fit for God.
No, strike that.
It was God.
[Lionel] Where would you go?
Can’t imagine I’ll move again.
I suppose I like it where I am.
[Music intensifies]
[Sheep bleat]
[He pants]
[Wind howls]
[Lionel] Hello.
I’m sorry, I think I’m lost.
Lost?
Where you headed?
Brackish.
That’s 20 miles from here.
You’re walking north, you know.
[Lionel]
I’m sorry to disturb you both.
I don’t know how I got so lost.
I didn’t make a plan.
[Wind whistles] I just got off the train and I started walking.
I thought I was going in the right direction.
I thought I could sleep outside, but it’s cold.
Do you have family?
Won’t they be worried about where you are?
No.
No, I’m…
I’m here alone.
[He exhales deeply]
A friend, a long time ago, said that I would like it, so…
I just guess I feel embarrassed, you know, getting lost.
Mostly I’m just tired, and hungry and cold.
[Man] Ah.
[Lionel chuckles]
[Lionel] What’s it about?
[David]
A man sitting on a gravestone, not letting his dead lover rest. She gets annoyed by all his weeping, tells him to just let her be dead.
[David sings] ♪ Oh, who is this
That sits on my grave? ♪
She tells him to enjoy life while he has it, to go away. It’s a good lesson.
[Woman sings ethereal, melancholic ballad]
♪ The stalk is withered and dry
Sweetheart
♪ And the flower will never return
♪ And since I lost my own true love
♪ What can I do but mourn?
♪ Mourn not for me, my own true love
♪ Mourn not for me, I pray
♪ For I must leave you
And all the world
♪ And go into my grave ♪
[Singing concludes]
[Faint mic static]
[Interviewer] So much of this book is not just about music, but about the musicians, their lives, journeys. How did you start songcollecting that way? I’ve heard your father had a significant influence on you.
I suppose that… yeah, that’s partly true, about my father.
[Subtle, emotive music]
It was a friend, really, to be honest.
[Interviewer] A musician?
Yeah.
He and I were students together at the Conservatory, back in 1917.
I went on a collecting trip with him.
That was his passion, finding old songs.
There was a moment, decades ago, when I realized that I had probably never been as happy as I was when… collecting songs.
Do you have a favorite passage in the book?
Something you could share with us?
Um… yeah.
I think the introduction’s worth reading here.
“I was recently asked by one of my students, “what I liked about folk songs, “the ballads especially.
“And I found myself saying that they were “the most warm-blooded pieces of music.
“And I didn’t quite know what I meant when I said it, “but I think I do now.
“These are songs filled with the voices of thousands “who’ve sung and changed them, “and of the people in our communities, in our lives.”
[Music plays Atmosphere , by Joy Division]
“These are not songs of divinity, “angels, spirits. “They’re songs of people. “Songs my father sung, songs my grandfather knew. “They’re songs from experiences, “stories with sadness so great “that they were turned to songs, “as if melody could make hardship lighter. “Orchestral music sharpens the mind, “sometimes the soul. “And choral music “makes you feel a depth of thought and spirituality. “The ballads in this book are messy, “human experiences, “events we might like to avoid: “heartbreak, death, jealousy. “And put a lump in your throat just by the melody.
“Emotion in song, “nothing fancy, “and that’s why I love them.”
[Interviewer] That’s beautiful. Well, my guest this hour has been ethnomusicologist, professor, writer, performer, Dr. Lionel Worthing.
His new book, Roots and Branches of American Ballads , explores stories in song.
[Music rises, obscures dialogue]
[ Atmosphere plays] ♪ …In silence
♪ Don’t turn away
♪ In silence
♪ Your confusion
♪ My illusion
♪ Worn like a mask of self-hate
♪ Confronts and then dies
♪ Don’t walk away ♪
[Song concludes]
“I found this in the attic “years ago, after we bought the house. I saw you on television last week. What a coincidence.”
[He sighs with emotion]
[Cylinder whirs]
[Cylinder plays woman’s singing]
♪ Here in the vineyard
♪ Of my Lord, I
♪ Hope to live and labor ♪
[He breathes shakily]
♪ And be obedient to my God
♪ Until my dying hour ♪
[Singing concludes]
[He inhales shakily]
Nineteen-twenty.
[Cylinder whirs]
[David] Hello, Lionel.
[He exhales shakily]
I hope this finds its way to you. I suppose I should explain. I just feel like there’s… like there’s something in me that’s not… that’s not going away, like a false note… You’ve been very good to me, Lionel. Thank you for coming north. Sorry, I don’t know what to say anymore. Really.
[David sings Silver Dagger ]
♪ Don’t sing love songs
♪ You’ll wake my mother
♪ She’s sleeping here ♪
[He breathes shakily]
♪ Right by my side
♪ In her right hand,
a silver dagger ♪
[Whirring fades, voice becomes distinct]
♪ She says that I
can’t be your bride
♪ All men are false
So says my mother
♪ They’ll tell you wicked,
loving lies
♪ The very next evening
They’ll court another
♪ Leave you alone to pine and sigh
♪ My daddy is a handsome devil
♪ He’s got a chain five miles long
♪ And on every link
a heart does dangle
♪ Of another maid
He’s loved and wronged ♪
♪ Don’t sing love songs
You’ll wake my mother
♪ She’s sleeping here
right by my side
♪ In her right hand, a silver dagger
♪ She says that
I can’t be your bride ♪
[Singing concludes; Wind blows, softly]
[Lionel]
I feel I’ve missed something.
[Stirring, emotive string music]
How to put this? It’s not nostalgia, it’s not grief. It’s the… hardness of a fact that I should’ve stayed in Maine. Would I feel differently if we hadn’t met? Would I feel now, that I had missed something?
[Music continues]
But we did meet.
[Faint, indistinct chatter]
And what do I want now? I want the sound of my life, I think. What happens to it all, all the sounds released into the world, never captured?
[Inaudible singing]
[Music swells]
I want all of it. The history of sound.
[Lionel] Lionel Worthing.
David White.
[Music rises]
[Music halts, resonates]
[Melancholic, sorrowful string music]
[Music continues]
[Music fades]
[Lionel sings delicate folk ballad]
♪ Here in the vineyard of my Lord
♪ I hope to live and labor ♪
[Delicate string arrangement joins]
♪ And be obedient to my God
♪ Until my dying hour
♪ I love to see the lilies grow
♪ And view them all astanding
♪ In the right place while here below
♪ Just as the Lord commanded ♪
♪ We ofttimes meet,
both night and day
♪ A faithful band of pilgrims
♪ We read, we sing,
we preach and pray
♪ And find the Lord most precious
♪ But while we sing our song of love
♪ Our hearts are deeply wounded
♪ Perhaps we all will meet no more
♪ Here in a congregation
♪ But if on earth we meet no more
♪ We hope to meet in heaven
♪ Where congregations ne’er break up
♪ But dwell in sweet communion ♪
[Song transitions into ethereal, melancholic music]
[Music continues]
[Music continues]
[Music continues]
[Music fades]
