There’s always something magical and wonderful about a night at the symphony. The music was already about to begin as I came rushing through the doors of Davies Symphony Hall, pulling off my heels and running up 3 flights of stairs. The usher gently offered me a seat, patting the stair step next to him. My heart was racing and I struggled to catch my breath, but as I gazed down on the artists and the sounds of Swan Lake floated up to us at the very tip top of the room, I found instant peace. I fell in love with classical music the moment I saw Fantasia. I’ve never let go of that connection it presented between myth, magic and music.  (And it so happens that while I write this post, I’m enjoying one of the vinyls I found on the street, Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade performed by the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Leopold Stokowski, the conductor for Fantasia.) Tchaikovsky’s work, especially, makes it difficult for me to remain still. I want to bounce around the room mock conducting. For the sake of those around me last night, I refrained and settled for some subtle swaying and finger-tapping. I had to battle hard during the close of Waltz from Swan Lake. But finally, as applause erupted, the usher smiled kindly and pointed the direction down to my seat.

I was sad to leave him, but I found my way to the front of the balcony where I settled in between the most adorable old man and a woman with her young son. They rolled out the grand piano and Inon Barnatan walked out in his white jacket and took a seat. He gave a nod to conductor James Gaffigan and off we were on Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1. The three movements likely lasted around 20 minutes, and in that time, I never saw Inon turn a page. This piece was all by memory. I sat in awe as I watched his hands dance across the keys at speeds that made me dizzy. Having never seen a pianist live, I wondered if I were too excited by his talent. Perhaps he was perfectly ordinary. The four curtain calls with a louder and more frenzied audience applause at each return said otherwise. The old man next to me turned to his female companion, and, with the slightest southern inflection, said, “Oh my, wasn’t that just so impressive? I am so very glad we came.” In that moment, I wanted so terribly to know them better but all I could do was smile to myself.

Being at the symphony does put me in the most congenial of spirits. I’m surrounded by a sense of sophistication and elegance that is growing increasingly rare. There are those who would say those attributes come paired with others like snobbery. It may certainly be the case for some, but I always encounter warm smiles from the couples I pass. It’s the only time I look forward to wearing a dress, so I can truly feel a part of their scene. I spent intermission roaming the halls to soak it all in. I happened on to an outdoor patio where I discovered that great view of City Hall. When I returned to my seat, my two new favorite old people were comparing the world’s reaction to the death of Michael Jackson to Sinatra’s. In both cases, fans cleared the shelves of anything connected to the artist. I was intrigued by the comparison and fascinated by the historical perspective these two people possessed.

I was growing anxious to hear 1812, but music from The Sleeping Beauty passed the time with ease. This night had presented me with so much Tchaikovsky I hadn’t yet heard. And there is no better way to hear a classical piece for the first time than with all the instruments lined up in front of you. With the pianist gone from the scene, I found my attentions focused on the harpist. I believe one never learns how to play the harp but instead how to speak to it. If only we were close enough, we might hear their quiet whispers. The harp’s sound is simply a reply in a breathtakingly beautiful language. It was no surprise the conductor gave the harpist, Douglas Rioth, a special nod. Magic, magic everywhere.

As I heard the first few bars of 1812 Overture, I squirmed in my seat with delight. In all these years, I’ve only heard the Finale and never the entire piece. It began so quietly with only the cellists, soon joined by the woodwinds, and finally the entire string section. With each hint of the Finale, I clenched my fists in anticipation but still, it wouldn’t come. Then I noticed a percussionist slip out the back and run up along the balcony behind the stage. In a few minutes I heard the marvelous toll of the bells from backstage. The symphony roared louder and faster with each measure. The timpani chimed in as a most realistic cannon. The horns blew and I felt this energy all around me, daring me not to hop up from my seat. My hands trembled and I yearned for a pause button to stay here for a while longer. I knew too well that the Finale would end before I was ready. Like it always does. Previously, I’d only heard it with marching bands but here was this sweet symphony and these incredibly loud unseen bells. I scanned the room and it made me want to scream, “How can you all be so still, so expressionless??” Then the moment came. The da-da da-da da-da da-bam-bam ended with an explosion of horns, timpani, and bells. It was over, and I inappropriately yelled a “WOOO!” I couldn’t help it. But others joined me. At least they let their enthusiasm show now. The room rose to its feet and applauded along, giving extra love to the percussionists and French horns. The old pair next to me continued with their “Wasn’t that so wonderful?” comments and life was indeed oh so wonderful in that moment.

The young boy on the other side of me threw a tantrum the entire way out of the place, forcing his mom to practically drag up him the stairs. He was crying and being a complete brat, and just as evil thoughts were entering my mind about how I wanted to grab him by the collar and…well, another older woman turned to me and said, “I can’t imagine how he slept through that!” I laughed and concurred it did seem a bit tricky. She laughed and my mind was full again of only pleasant thoughts. The symphony doesn’t allow otherwise. As the crowd grew close to the exit, I glanced over to Inon Barnatan, the pianist, who was signing CDs. I half-laughed at the extreme music events I find myself so deeply moved by. I listened to the chatter about me, young or old, they all gave the same praises. Directly in front of me I noticed a familiar face. It was a man from the opera last week. An Italian-looking man with gray-white hair and a prominent nose, something about him had made me take notice of him in the crowd leaving the opera. He had such a kind face. Then I found myself standing next to him on the bus. He offered me his seat on the bus, promising his stop was soon. I was about to say hello last night but another lady pulled him aside. I was just happy to finally see a familiar face. Then I noticed a man to my right, and I’m not sure how I could tell, as I could only see his black jacket sleeve out of the corner of my eye, but I got the sense he was going to talk to me. Maybe it was because he was staying in step with me. I’m not sure. However, right as we got to the doors, he said, “I really like your dress.” I said, “Thanks” and he walked away in the opposite direction. So I saw his arm and the back of his head. Quite random.

And now, I think it’s time to put on another of the vinyls I found on the street, 1812 Overture performed by the Boston Pops. Glad I forgot I had it. This listen will be my first.

Playbill:

Music from Swan Lake

Scene

Waltz

Dance of the Swans

Czardas

Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-flat minor, Opus 23

Allegro non troppo e molto maestoso—Allegro con spirito

Andantino semplice—Prestissimo

Allegro con fuoco

Music from The Sleeping Beauty

Introduction: The Lilac Fairy

Adagio: Pas d´action

Pas de caractère: Puss in Boots and the White Cat

Panorama

Waltz

1812 Overture

Completely Unrelated

I had such a busy week that I didn’t get a chance to post about a few other items. First, Tyler is leaving for Ukraine tomorrow on a two-week mission trip with a bunch of other people from his church. It’s a trip he had been hoping to embark on for such a long time, so I’m certainly happy he was given the opportunity. They will be providing support for single mothers and their children, who are basically treated as second-class citizens in the country and banned from the cities. I trust we’ll learn of some touching stories from the people they encounter with Tyler as the storyteller. You can follow them on Twitter (@graceinukraine) or read their blog, Grace in Ukraine.

Secondly, last Saturday I had the pleasure of witnessing AKQA’s softball team’s first win, in their 3 years in the league, against Pereira & O’Dell, one of our big rivals. It was a sweet victory, even in 95-degree temps. After returning Cerra to Haight, I decided it was too lovely to go home. I turned on random roads in The Presidio, just to see where they might lead. I found a great view of my neighborhood but it was blocked off for a wedding. I found the golf course and drove around the huge cemetery. But between those places, I found the ocean. I parked and sat on a rock ledge with a perfect view of the Pacific. There was a cool breeze off the water, and it was so peaceful that I stayed for a long while.

I didn’t drive much further before I spotted another area, this one with a partial view of Golden Gate. I stood next to an older couple watching the big ships appear out of the blanket of fog and pass under the bridge while small sailboats and wind surfers passed around them. It was quite lovely, a great place to bring a good book. I only regretted the strong wind, which kept me from eavesdropping on the man telling his wife about the different things they were seeing. I wanted to learn, too.

The Presidio photos. I’ll have to take my SLR next time. I couldn’t quite get the shots I wanted with crazy auto focus.

Lastly, also last weekend, I finished Lost season 4. I’m saving season 5 until just before season 6, despite Tyler’s demand that I need to watch it right now. I also finished Kerouac’s On the Road. I always wait until I’m finished with a book before looking at the author photo and reading any of the reviews on the jacket. I don’t want my impression to be tainted. Realizing the overlap between Kerouac’s journeys and my own made the read extra special. I knew by the alley named after him that Kerouac eventually landed in Frisco, but I was completely oblivious that this book was about his first time discovering it. That is just how behind I am with literature. Anyway, the fact that I was hard-pressed to imagine myself in most of his scenarios, oddly freed me of some inhibitions. I’ve come to believe that I have to carefully choose my reads because I genuinely take to heart what they say. By midway through this book, I was tinkering with the idea of making some changes in my own life. Details of those changes will be forthcoming, but for now, I mention it only because on the book jacket, there is this line:

…three generations of writers, musicians, artists, and poets cite their discovery of On the Road as the event that “set them free.”

I must agree whole-heartedly.

And as a final note, I’m temporarily requiring registration to leave a comment until I figure out a more viable solution for dealing with spammers. I rarely get comments anyway, so I’m not too worried about people being inconvenienced. Just wanted to let you know. I haven’t even tested so you may not be able to comment at all :) Developer hat is not on this weekend as you may have gathered by the exactly 4-page post.