Just over a week ago, I had a
privilege that is not found in the modern-day.
Maybe a few hundred years ago, it was normal for a lady to have
musicians playing a concert just for her, close enough that she could touch
them. That kind of intimacy is
impractical today, and more than impractically expensive. I was lucky, though—I didn’t have to pay a
dime.
Of
course, there were some other people at my private concert. When the Roanoke Symphony Chorus and
attending string quintet performed at Calvary Baptist Church on November 21st,
the house was full. But I wasn’t a
member of the audience. I was in the
front row of the choir, seating within feet of the cellist. It really was the best seat of the house, and
I imagined that the music was for only me.
Music
has always been a huge part of my life.
I’ve been singing since I was a little off-key toddler who only knew two
lines of a song, and I’ve been in choirs for almost as long. In the past few years, however, I’ve been
unable to sing in a large group, and I’d almost forgotten what a blessing it
can be. Almost.
It
wasn’t just the performance of the quintet that stunned me, although they were
exquisitely talented, all of them. It
was the full performance—the way many voices can become one, the way the
struggle for weeks with the not-quite-perfect becomes something transcendent in
performance. Music can put you in your
place in the best way possible: the self is forgotten, and the sound connects
you with everyone else, because this appreciation is something we can all
share. This experience, the true
beginning of my holiday season, reminded me that the very best way to love
music is to participate in the making of it.
