Soliloquy on Music

This evening was the first time in... three months that I went out for a show, and rather longer since my last classical concert; I miss the Imperial College String Ensemble, and Nikita and Ken and all the rest. Tonight's performance was Sofya Gulyak at the keys of a heart-shattering Steinway (best not to forget the '& Sons'); Rachmaninoff, Scriabin, Shostakovich and Prokofiev, a completely russian collection of piano solos, and three encores!

I could only concentrate for the first half, my mind wandering wildly in the second to all sorts of places: memories of piano playing, my old teacher whom I cast aside after two years because the expection of progress was too much and I wasn't prepared to put in the hours; thence onto a reflection on the phenomenon* of piano playing itself, and music in general.

*every time I attempt to spell that word 'n's and 'm's play musical chairs and I have to tell them to wait until dinner's over

How odd that out of the melting pot of human evolution, social evolution and all the nuances thereof, that some hundred-odd people sit in chairs inside a 101-yea-old hall (interestingly, more than half as old as the oldest stone building in New Zealand, a cute now-shop in Keri Keri) and listen to the outpouring of years and experience and passion into an assemblage of metal, wood, spring-steel and black lacquer... and have the emotional engagement of a primary school assembly. Music is beautiful, as varied as the universe in character and delivery, so why do I opt to sit in a slightly comfy chair, in a crowd and settle into a selfish luncheon of notes? Yes, it plays to my personality a great deal, the private indulgence and abstract intellectual Platonism get along with my introversion like bits of string and Yo-Yo Ma... but the respectful silence between movements belies the conservatism that surrounds truly 'classically' classical music: where's the middleground between Tiesto and Barenboim?

Rapture, nearly orgasmic on occasion, is common for me, when listening to the right piece of music, though I can't think why. Barber's Adagio for Strings, Shostakovich's Piano Concerto #2, Handel's Queen of Sheba, and many more, ignite a fire of deep-seated pleasure in my heart - a few inches lower than my heart it seems - and the warmest, more comforting, familial wave dance like glistening shards out of that brazier. That classical music is familiar to me is crucial I think, the reward of knowing the future almost. Opera is definitely one of my chocolate liqueur of music: a treat that is rare and delicious, but it's not for every day, and unlike any sort of chocolate I enjoy opera partly because it's esoteric, I admit it, I'm a drawn to enjoy things that are associated with being superior and cliquey... but science says I have high self-esteem and I'm creative and gentle.

To be continued...