I went to the symphony last night. It was no big deal, I've been to the symphony a lot as a college student. You really can't argue with $5 tickets. Even before college, I've pretty much grown up with the good old SSO. Of course I was excited for the concert, I always am. I was even more excited that it was going to be a Coeur d'Alene Symphony reunion of sorts. Katrina, Elizabeth, Angela, Laura, Amy, and Mac were all coming. The only person we were missing was Jason, who we lost to a girl. It's funny how that happens in college. People start dating and then you never see them again. I tend to forgive them for this slight. We were going to hear the Elgar cello concerto along with some other British music (Arnold Bax, Ralph Vaughn Williams, and one other guy I can't recall...)
Unfortunately there was another really cool concert going on at the exact same time. Jazz pianist Arnie Carruthers (the "right hand man") was playing at CenterStage! Now, this was a terribly important concert and I had been planning on attending ever since I'd heard of it. First off, Carruthers, who is something of a jazz great, is even more amazing seeing that he is paralyzed on one side of his body after suffering a stroke. He can only play with his right hand and my high school band director at least swore that you could not tell the difference.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJoKJgkvWTA
That is not all however. He was recently in a car accident and I think I read that he broke his back in 3 places. Yikes! Yet he is still going! I have never seen him live and I thought it would be quite amazing to watch this "triumph" of sorts. Obviously he's probably still recovering, but still! You must understand the significance of such a moment. But I'd already agreed on the symphony before I realized it conflicted, and even so I don't know that I could have found anyone to go with me. And I was excited to spend time with our Coeur d'Alene group.
The first half of the concert was okay. The music was pleasant but nothing really inspired me. I found my mind wandering, as often happens when I listen to music. I feel like I should be focusing on the moment and drinking it all in, but at the same time music has such a power to transport you to somewhere else that it's almost natural for the mind to wander. The second half began with slightly more promise. This piece (Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, Vaughn Williams) was moving. It swelled and receded like, as Amy observed, the orchestra was breathing. Or, as I thought, like the sea. And I knew the best would be last. The Elgar cello concerto.
The solo, one renowned Alban Gerhardt walked on stage accompanied by Maestro Preu. Both took their places. And then Preu handed Gerhardt the microphone. And Gerhardt announced, in an accent that sounded more Scottish than anything else "I would like to dedicate this concert to my mother, she passed away this morning."
A very loud groan, almost a cry of pity, escaped from much of the audience. At that moment I knew that everyone would be on their feet at the end of the concerto, and it wouldn't have anything to do with the music. Gerhardt had asked for a moment of silence and so we sat, holding our collective breath and my eyes at least were focused on the cellist. It felt rude and obtrusive. I wanted to be able to look away, to leave him in privacy, as he sat there with his head bowed over his instrument. And yet I couldn't. I wished I knew him so that I could be more than just a staring stranger. As it was, I thought of what this concert would mean to him , I wondered what his mother had been like, I wondered what his beliefs about death were, and I thought of my own parents and wondered how many others were doing the same. And then the music started.
It was such an appropriate piece. I had never heard the Elgar cello concerto before, so I didn't know what to expect. I'm sure I will never hear it again with the same kind of power and emotion. It was one of the most powerful moments of music I have ever experienced. Angela observed later what I had been thinking at the time, that he was obviously grieving through his instrument. I felt privileged to share in this moment, and I also felt like I had no business being there, witnessing such a private expression of grief and loss.
I don't know what his relationship with his mother had been like, but as a musician I can guess. Because very rarely do musicians get to that level without the constant encouragement, prompting, and devotion of their parents. You have to start young, very young, if you're going to be a professional solo performer and that doesn't happen without having parents who are passionately devoted to music and who share that passion with you. Even when musicians come from non-musical families, the parents still must pay for the lessons, must encourage and prompt you to practice, and provide support in what is an extremely competitive field. I have experienced much of this, but obviously I'm not one of those who has practiced 3 to 5 hours a day since I was 6. But for musicians, parental influence is generally how it happens, how you "make it." And Gerhardt probably owed much of the fact that he was up there, on that stage, with that orchestra, to his mother.
On the one hand, I always feel a bit sorry for the solo performers. It is, from what I have read and heard, a grueling existence. Always traveling, generally by yourself. It's no wonder professionals of this type seem so stand-offish, what's the point of putting down any roots or establishing any relationships when you're just going to be plucked up again in a couple of days. You'd be constantly working with strangers, all for the thrill of doing what you love. It's a sacrifice of sorts, and I doubt it's much fun. And when things like this happen, you're somewhere on the other side of the world, and you just have to keep going. I absolutely can't imagine it, the isolation and the dedication and professionalism required to just keep at it. And yet I felt the concert was a tribute of sorts. For in music it is a tremendous achievement to get where Gerhardt is. And he's there. He made it and you know his mother must have been extremely proud.
Of course it's all surmise and over-active imagining on my part, yet this is why that concert was so amazingly powerful for me. Because I've often asserted that that's what music IS. It's a form of communication. It's a way of expressing your feelings when words just fail. It's one of the most intimate forms of communication there is. And the whole time my attention was centered right there on that stage. It was like I was standing up there. I wanted to make sure this concert honored his mother properly, even though I was just a stranger who wouldn't have known him from Adam the day before. It was striking to me how he cradled and rocked his instrument, just how affectionately he played. It was mesmerizing I suppose. I can't really completely describe exactly what it felt like to be sitting in the audience witnessing this profound moment, this moment that so expressed what music is about.
And as I was so intensely focused on that stage, part of me was also thinking of the Arnie Carruthers concert just across the street. Here, in town, were 2 immensely expressive musical moments. Arnie Carruthers was sitting at a piano again, in a sort of defiant gesture. And Alban Gerhardt was sitting in front of me, playing for his mother. And when it was over, we surged to our feet and expressed our appreciation and sympathy as best we could. It had been wonderful music, but not because all the accents were right or the phrasing was perfect or the interpretation was so beautiful. It was because, at least for me, I wanted him to feel that he had done well. And when he played his encore, I felt that if anyone deserved that honor he did. I haven't really said all I wanted to say, but it's kind of impossible, and I'm kind of at the end of my ability as an outsider and a stranger witnessing one of the defining moments of someone's life.
P.S. I am painfully aware that sometimes, rather than expressing something music cheapens it. We've all been to funerals where they play some tediously trite song and you think "that's all wrong." I'm leaving this disclaimer so that this post doesn't seem overly-sentimental or cheapen what really was a profoundly moving experience. My point is that even though the music used to express certain moments may not always be appropriate, it doesn't have to be that way. Music is capable of sensitive and intelligent expression of real human experiences.
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