Fierce emotion coursed through my veins and a wave of passion rushed over me as the iconic first measure of Beethoven’s Ninth issued throughout the auditorium. My face became warm and musical memories I had completely forgotten about flooded forth from the recesses of my mind: rummaging through Classical cassette tapes in the basement of Marshall Fields, rosining my bow in a small church in Dublin, picking out a piece of gum from the candy jar after a successful viola lesson. Music has always been an integral part of my life and whenever I attend the symphony—I am shaken and moved to my very core.
One of my Christmas gifts from Brett this year was a pair of tickets in the prestigious Orchestra section at Benaroya Hall for the December 30th symphony performance of Beethoven’s Ninth. We arrived 45 minutes before the affair was to begin and I was pleased and impressed by the vast number of patrons present. Having no desire to hoof it through the hill and dale of downtown Seattle in the rouge and windy December (in my five inch Marni heels no less!); we forked over $11 to use the parking garage. After waiting an interminable length of time for the elevator to take us to the mezzanine, we finally packed in like cattle and ascended to the main lobby (evocative of an airport food court replete with a Wolfgang Puck breeze-thru.)
Of particular interest to me that evening, having the proclivity for fashion that I do, was the general aesthetic of the audience—which was surprisingly more refined than the crowd I encounter when frequenting the opera. There were nary a pair of Levi’s to be found save for a gentleman who looked more like a member of the Audubon Society than a guest at the symphony. Other than that, the mood was festive and refined with only a small peppering of that distinctly Seattle flair.
We lingered with our cocktails in hand on a sweeping expanse of stairway to observe the pre-symphony hullabaloo. Holiday lights and garland tinkled and the joyous din of revelers echoed warmly throughout the reception area, which was cast in the city glow flowing in from the skylights above. People continued to flow in and head toward their seats so Brett and I did the same. The auditorium was filled to the absolute brim and by my estimation was a completely full house. Lights dimmed and I leaned forward, rapt.
Ninth would not be performed until after the intermission, so the first hour was comprised of Brahms’ Liebeslieder Waltzes which seemed to be a bit of unnecessary filler and the singing was drown beneath the tympani as a result of ill-amplification. I halfheartedly listened to the piece—anxious to get to the meat and potatoes. That being said, it was still a respectable performance. The Waltzes are meant to explore the many facets of love and life and are light, folksy and inherently Viennese.
I found my attention drifting to one of the side balconies for a good portion of time. Shortly after the Waltzes began, I heard a dull thud followed by whispered gasps so I naturally cocked my head heavenward to see what was progressing. To this day, I’m not quite sure what it was, but the entire balcony box slowly evacuated by a familial brood replete with grandparents, teens and toddlers. I can only assume that perhaps one of the young ones suffered from a seizure or fit of some sort. Many people glanced back and forth between the stage and the balcony until everyone had filtered out and there was no one left to see.
As the first part of the performance drew to a close I hopped to my feet and pressed myself and Brett through idlers toward the bar. We perched on a banquette with our libations in hand, and I happened to notice a fire truck and ambulance outside, red lights bleating, indicating that whatever transpired in the balcony held some degree of gravity. Brett popped up to run to the lavatory and handed me his martini to guard whilst he was away. Moments after having been abandoned, a dapper old gentleman approached me and asked the age old question: Do I come here often? I groaned internally, squeezed the glasses I was double fisting and took the bait. He pointed at a gentleman in a kilt and conspiratorially asked whether I thought this “man” was a woman. I gave him a conciliatory smile and quipped that he was obviously either Scottish or eccentric. To my surprise and delight, I had barely finished my sentence before he scurried off as though we never even spoke. Turning my head and following his course, I realized it was because his wife had emerged from the restroom and he likely didn’t want her to see the two of us dallying.
Upon Brett’s return, it was time for good old Ludwig van's iconic Ninth Symphony to begin so we scurried back to our seats in anticipation. Dim lights set the mood perfectly for the conductor- poised anxiously over his podium. The symphony that was about to be performed is considered as one of the best known works of the Western classical repertoire as well as Beethoven's greatest masterpiece. What I find to be particularly mind blowing about this cataclysmically evocative piece is that at the time of its composure, Beethoven was completely deaf. How he even managed this feat is beyond my comprehension.
The Ninth is the longest symphony in existence, running just over one hour whereas a typical symphony is approximately 30 minutes. During this time, there were four movements that ebbed and flowed like manic waves: at once gentle, calm, unsuspecting and quiet and then suddenly thundering powerfully, apocalypitically and angrily against the shore. The fourth movement, almost a symphony in and of itself and perhaps the most popular movement of Beethoven's magnum opus, includes a chorale performance of Schiller's "Ode to Joy."
The hour passed in what felt like mere minutes, the energy of the audience vibrating with excitement and anticipation. Finally, we all erupted in applause and bounded to our feet for a long and gracious ovation to a flawless performance of Beethoven's Ninth.
Of particular interest to me that evening, having the proclivity for fashion that I do, was the general aesthetic of the audience—which was surprisingly more refined than the crowd I encounter when frequenting the opera. There were nary a pair of Levi’s to be found save for a gentleman who looked more like a member of the Audubon Society than a guest at the symphony. Other than that, the mood was festive and refined with only a small peppering of that distinctly Seattle flair.
We lingered with our cocktails in hand on a sweeping expanse of stairway to observe the pre-symphony hullabaloo. Holiday lights and garland tinkled and the joyous din of revelers echoed warmly throughout the reception area, which was cast in the city glow flowing in from the skylights above. People continued to flow in and head toward their seats so Brett and I did the same. The auditorium was filled to the absolute brim and by my estimation was a completely full house. Lights dimmed and I leaned forward, rapt.
Ninth would not be performed until after the intermission, so the first hour was comprised of Brahms’ Liebeslieder Waltzes which seemed to be a bit of unnecessary filler and the singing was drown beneath the tympani as a result of ill-amplification. I halfheartedly listened to the piece—anxious to get to the meat and potatoes. That being said, it was still a respectable performance. The Waltzes are meant to explore the many facets of love and life and are light, folksy and inherently Viennese.I found my attention drifting to one of the side balconies for a good portion of time. Shortly after the Waltzes began, I heard a dull thud followed by whispered gasps so I naturally cocked my head heavenward to see what was progressing. To this day, I’m not quite sure what it was, but the entire balcony box slowly evacuated by a familial brood replete with grandparents, teens and toddlers. I can only assume that perhaps one of the young ones suffered from a seizure or fit of some sort. Many people glanced back and forth between the stage and the balcony until everyone had filtered out and there was no one left to see.
As the first part of the performance drew to a close I hopped to my feet and pressed myself and Brett through idlers toward the bar. We perched on a banquette with our libations in hand, and I happened to notice a fire truck and ambulance outside, red lights bleating, indicating that whatever transpired in the balcony held some degree of gravity. Brett popped up to run to the lavatory and handed me his martini to guard whilst he was away. Moments after having been abandoned, a dapper old gentleman approached me and asked the age old question: Do I come here often? I groaned internally, squeezed the glasses I was double fisting and took the bait. He pointed at a gentleman in a kilt and conspiratorially asked whether I thought this “man” was a woman. I gave him a conciliatory smile and quipped that he was obviously either Scottish or eccentric. To my surprise and delight, I had barely finished my sentence before he scurried off as though we never even spoke. Turning my head and following his course, I realized it was because his wife had emerged from the restroom and he likely didn’t want her to see the two of us dallying.
Upon Brett’s return, it was time for good old Ludwig van's iconic Ninth Symphony to begin so we scurried back to our seats in anticipation. Dim lights set the mood perfectly for the conductor- poised anxiously over his podium. The symphony that was about to be performed is considered as one of the best known works of the Western classical repertoire as well as Beethoven's greatest masterpiece. What I find to be particularly mind blowing about this cataclysmically evocative piece is that at the time of its composure, Beethoven was completely deaf. How he even managed this feat is beyond my comprehension.
The Ninth is the longest symphony in existence, running just over one hour whereas a typical symphony is approximately 30 minutes. During this time, there were four movements that ebbed and flowed like manic waves: at once gentle, calm, unsuspecting and quiet and then suddenly thundering powerfully, apocalypitically and angrily against the shore. The fourth movement, almost a symphony in and of itself and perhaps the most popular movement of Beethoven's magnum opus, includes a chorale performance of Schiller's "Ode to Joy."
The hour passed in what felt like mere minutes, the energy of the audience vibrating with excitement and anticipation. Finally, we all erupted in applause and bounded to our feet for a long and gracious ovation to a flawless performance of Beethoven's Ninth.
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