English vocabulary: Music & dance – 49 words with pictures, audio & printable flashcards

Tom loves the music.

Then the song stops.

She is a musician.

She started to play a simple rhythm.

The sound system was wired.

He was the youngest player in the Coldwater Brass Band.

The whole performance could fall apart.

The final movement — the famous Ode to Joy — filled the theatre with voices and instruments together.

Tonight, the lead singer, Diana, was sick with a fever.

The final movement — the famous Ode to Joy — filled the theatre with voices and instruments together.

She found a train ticket purchased with cash, impossible to trace but not impossible to find, tucked into a programme from a 2012 concert that had been donated to the Conservatory library by an anonymous source.

The concert is over.

Below the words, there are five musical notes.

She worked as an archivist for the National Music Conservatory in Prague, a job that involved cataloguing instruments, scores, and the kinds of personal effects that musicians leave behind when they die with more ambition than family.

Or simply the exhaustion of being a public person who had never really wanted to be public, which she could believe more easily than the others because she had heard it in his music, in the way he sometimes conducted the quietest passages with his eyes closed, as though the audience had already gone home.

The man plays the piano.

Somewhere three streets away, a sound system was testing bass frequencies— the kind you feel in your chest before you hear them.

She played the snare drum.

The theatre hired a professional conductor, Michael Umlauf, to actually lead the orchestra.

Tom is a Morris dancer.

The handwriting on the cash ticket receipt — a clerk had noted the passenger's destination — matched a note Vávra had written to her once, correcting her interpretation of a tempo marking.

The theatre hired a professional conductor, Michael Umlauf, to actually lead the orchestra.

And yet, somehow, he had spent the last two years writing his Ninth Symphony — a massive, complex piece of music that included a full orchestra and a choir of singers.

They had come to hear something new — a symphony that nobody had performed before.

It is a violin case.

He could not hear the music, so he could not keep the correct tempo.

Vávra had wrapped his batons himself — she had watched him do it once, during a rehearsal break, while he talked to her about phrasing in the second movement of a Dvořák symphony.

The pianist played the first notes.

She played the snare drum.

He was sixteen years old, with a large tuba.

Dolores picked up her drumsticks.

It was supposed to be his debut as a bandleader.

The man plays the piano.

She could not sing.

The theatre hired a professional conductor, Michael Umlauf, to actually lead the orchestra.

They had come to hear something new — a symphony that nobody had performed before.

Today, Tom dances in a small village in England.

If Beethoven stood at the front and tried to conduct the orchestra himself, there was a real risk of disaster.

Beethoven never composed another symphony after the Ninth.

The handwriting on the cash ticket receipt — a clerk had noted the passenger's destination — matched a note Vávra had written to her once, correcting her interpretation of a tempo marking.

She hums the five notes.

The pianist played the first notes.

The number had been fine.

They played their full set of twelve songs.

But the man who had written it could not hear a single note.

And yet, somehow, he had spent the last two years writing his Ninth Symphony — a massive, complex piece of music that included a full orchestra and a choir of singers.

People in Crestfall had learned, over many generations, that when you heard two slow, deep rings from that tower, you stopped.

He was still looking at his score, still lost in his private silence.

Their music was loud and bright.