A Merry Moment
I am quite weary of going to musical performances. My music professor says that if we go to three performances and have an A average by test four, we are excused from the final—“music” to my ears. He gave us three opportunities, all within the last week: Sunday afternoon listening to French music (free/55 min.), Tuesday evening listening to the music of an organist (free/55 min.), and Thursday night listening to the season opener of the Bowling Green Symphony Orchestra ($5/120 min + write a paper) called “Russian Nights.” Now whether or not to go to the first two performances was a no-brainer, and the music therewith was found to be quite ample. The real question was about the symphony orchestra, as the price was a little higher, both in money and in effort. I debated long and hard—it wouldn’t have been so bad if Sharon had agreed to go with me. But as “the price of gas” is so high these days, Sharon refused to budge from her room, and I was stuck going by myself.
I had imagined I would slip into the back somewhere as I had at the Presbyterian Church, where I could possibly work on my paper during the performance or mess around with my PDA if I got bored. [I have yet to win a game of Solitaire on that thing.] So I stood in the student line, paid my $5.00 and looked in dismay at my “ticket.” My seat number [what? seat numbers?] was G28. The usher at the door told me to go down the middle aisle and turn left into row G. Oh dear. Z was at the back, which meant G was seventh from the front. Yessir! Front and Center! And I did NOT like it. But I sat there anyway. No papers or Solitaire for me.
It wasn’t long before another young lady made her way to the seat beside me, clambering over the old people at the ends of the aisle, just as I had had to do. She was also a student, and we concluded there was a conspiracy afoot to get all the students to sit in the middles of the benches so we couldn’t escape so easily. Since Sharon wasn’t with me, it was time to make a friend. And so I did. Oh, we chatted and chatted at every available moment. “Layne” is a respiratory therapist turned pre-vet student. She wasn’t very impressed that the performance had cost us $5.00 and expressed sentiments that she hopes she “gets her $5.00 worth.”
All in due time, the performance began. The conductor led a congregational/orchestral rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. And then the announcement: four of the violinists had a flat tire, and the lead pianist was going to give us some special numbers on the piano while we waited on them. To the audience member who had paid $18 to listen to this performance, this was an added blessing. To the student who had homework to do, this was not particularly welcome.
They must’ve given up on the violinists for the first half, for we proceeded with “the show” after fifteen minutes of the piano solo. I enjoyed the music, but I always have to wonder why a particular piece must be so long. While I thought the pieces were marvelously played, I found myself noticing the oddest things such as the black and orange extension cords that draped down from the spotlights and the piece of leg showing between the bottom of a man’s pants and the top of his socks and the scar on the arm of the college guy in front of me.
Professor G had given us some instructions the very day of this concert. He had, in fact, said that a concerto is made up of several parts, and it is not proper to clap until the end of all these parts. He told us that if we hear several people clap when everyone else remains silent, this would, in fact, be an example of people “not knowing any better.” So when we heard the inevitable clapping in between the movements of the concerto, Layne and I would look at each other and just smile at the inevitable embarrassment of those poor unfortunate souls. And I was very thankful that I had been Informed! It’s one thing to be sitting up front and center; it’s quite another to be sitting up front and center and clap when you’re not supposed to.
I enjoyed all the pomp and circumstance of the conductor, the solo pianist, and the head violinist. Oh, but they would bow and march off the stage and just when you thought you could quit clapping—in they’d march again, and we’d have another round. Tricky guys.
It was during the finale of the final piece, however, that I truly felt like I had gotten my money and time’s worth. One of the three college boys sitting in front of us had long since tuned out by the end of the second hour. He was in the middle of his program, drawing many, many little things. And he was engrossed therewith. And suddenly, out of nowhere, came an instrument that was about three times as loud as the rest of the music. And this young gentleman, bent over his scholarly work, was startled. His head ascended so suddenly that the combination of the loud instrument and his quickly-moving head, in turn, startled ME (although not as visibly)! He hit the back of his seat, and I saw that a bit of whiplash had occurred. And he turned and beheld sheepishly that he had an audience of about three observing him. And we all four shared a Moment of Merriment during that final finale. My Moment, however, was so merry that I had a hard time recovering from it, front and center and all. And I decided it was a good thing that Sharon had not come with me, for it was hard enough to recover as it was. I cannot imagine how I would’ve contained my laughter had I had someone to enjoy that moment with.
And during the course of all three of the performances I attended, I came to the conclusion that classical music IS something I can appreciate; however, I can appreciate it much better under the following conditions: 1.) as CD music, a background to whatever I need to be doing, or 2.) in concert, attending with a friend/relation, and 3.) only once or twice a year—not three times within the same week.
I had imagined I would slip into the back somewhere as I had at the Presbyterian Church, where I could possibly work on my paper during the performance or mess around with my PDA if I got bored. [I have yet to win a game of Solitaire on that thing.] So I stood in the student line, paid my $5.00 and looked in dismay at my “ticket.” My seat number [what? seat numbers?] was G28. The usher at the door told me to go down the middle aisle and turn left into row G. Oh dear. Z was at the back, which meant G was seventh from the front. Yessir! Front and Center! And I did NOT like it. But I sat there anyway. No papers or Solitaire for me.
It wasn’t long before another young lady made her way to the seat beside me, clambering over the old people at the ends of the aisle, just as I had had to do. She was also a student, and we concluded there was a conspiracy afoot to get all the students to sit in the middles of the benches so we couldn’t escape so easily. Since Sharon wasn’t with me, it was time to make a friend. And so I did. Oh, we chatted and chatted at every available moment. “Layne” is a respiratory therapist turned pre-vet student. She wasn’t very impressed that the performance had cost us $5.00 and expressed sentiments that she hopes she “gets her $5.00 worth.”
All in due time, the performance began. The conductor led a congregational/orchestral rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. And then the announcement: four of the violinists had a flat tire, and the lead pianist was going to give us some special numbers on the piano while we waited on them. To the audience member who had paid $18 to listen to this performance, this was an added blessing. To the student who had homework to do, this was not particularly welcome.
They must’ve given up on the violinists for the first half, for we proceeded with “the show” after fifteen minutes of the piano solo. I enjoyed the music, but I always have to wonder why a particular piece must be so long. While I thought the pieces were marvelously played, I found myself noticing the oddest things such as the black and orange extension cords that draped down from the spotlights and the piece of leg showing between the bottom of a man’s pants and the top of his socks and the scar on the arm of the college guy in front of me.
Professor G had given us some instructions the very day of this concert. He had, in fact, said that a concerto is made up of several parts, and it is not proper to clap until the end of all these parts. He told us that if we hear several people clap when everyone else remains silent, this would, in fact, be an example of people “not knowing any better.” So when we heard the inevitable clapping in between the movements of the concerto, Layne and I would look at each other and just smile at the inevitable embarrassment of those poor unfortunate souls. And I was very thankful that I had been Informed! It’s one thing to be sitting up front and center; it’s quite another to be sitting up front and center and clap when you’re not supposed to.
I enjoyed all the pomp and circumstance of the conductor, the solo pianist, and the head violinist. Oh, but they would bow and march off the stage and just when you thought you could quit clapping—in they’d march again, and we’d have another round. Tricky guys.
It was during the finale of the final piece, however, that I truly felt like I had gotten my money and time’s worth. One of the three college boys sitting in front of us had long since tuned out by the end of the second hour. He was in the middle of his program, drawing many, many little things. And he was engrossed therewith. And suddenly, out of nowhere, came an instrument that was about three times as loud as the rest of the music. And this young gentleman, bent over his scholarly work, was startled. His head ascended so suddenly that the combination of the loud instrument and his quickly-moving head, in turn, startled ME (although not as visibly)! He hit the back of his seat, and I saw that a bit of whiplash had occurred. And he turned and beheld sheepishly that he had an audience of about three observing him. And we all four shared a Moment of Merriment during that final finale. My Moment, however, was so merry that I had a hard time recovering from it, front and center and all. And I decided it was a good thing that Sharon had not come with me, for it was hard enough to recover as it was. I cannot imagine how I would’ve contained my laughter had I had someone to enjoy that moment with.
And during the course of all three of the performances I attended, I came to the conclusion that classical music IS something I can appreciate; however, I can appreciate it much better under the following conditions: 1.) as CD music, a background to whatever I need to be doing, or 2.) in concert, attending with a friend/relation, and 3.) only once or twice a year—not three times within the same week.
And so my extra-credit assignments are finished for this class, and I am now free to concentrate on Other Things.
posted by Kris at 9/29/2005 11:53:00 PM
2 Comments:
Surfed over here from MD. I echo your sentiments about enjoying classical music. I feel like such a Philistine to admit it, and it creates tension with my classically-trained musician husband when the subject comes up, but I confess to squirming when a concert goes too long. My music appreciation class helped, but Romanticism and most everything since then is best enjoyed as background music. Culturally stunted, that's me!
BTW, you and your sisters all write in a most entertaining style!
Thanks, Naomi. Rare are the people who actually take the time to enjoy it (writing style, that is.)
Anyway, regarding music.. I'm glad I am taking music appreciation (even though I question whether it's worth the money I'm paying for it). I've learned a lot already, but I certainly don't think I'll ever qualify as one of those "culturally refined" folks.
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