At the time, it seemed like such a fine idea. My wife has wanted to introduce more culture into our lives; so a week ago, when tickets to the orchestra became available, I said sure, why not? I'll do a little culture.
Now the night has arrived. But there's a football game on TV. I'm tired and it's freezing outside.
The inevitable whining and complaining begins.
"Do we have to go?" I say, sprawled out on the couch, the clicker resting on my chest. "Hey, how about we just listen to classical music on the radio?" Despite my half-hearted protestations, we make our way downtown.
As we enter the lobby of the orchestra hall, my mood is brightened when I spot a well-stocked bar in the corner. As we approach, the bartender nods obsequiously in our direction. Behind him, an all-star lineup of liquor bottles stands at attention like ballplayers during the national anthem: There's Bombay Sapphire flanked by Johnnie Walker who's shoulder to shoulder with Grey Goose.
Normally, I'd just order a Budweiser, but I'm at the orchestra, not a sports bar. I feel like a grown-up drink for a change. I order a Maker's Mark on the rocks, and Linda has her usual white wine. Drinks in hand, we find a spot where we can survey the civilized crowd. Two minutes later, the signal is given to enter the hall. We make our way up the stairs, my drink sloshing along the way.
It would be a sacrilege to toss a fresh Maker's Mark. So as the ticket-taker and my mortified wife look on, I take a big gulp before dumping the plastic cup in the trash. As the warm rivulet of bourbon makes its way down my chest, I feel like flapping my wings like Jack Nicholson's character in Easy Rider.
We settle into our seats in the rear balcony and look around. I haven't been here since Jimmy Carter was in office.
I thumb through the program. What's with these song titles? You'd think Bach could come up with something a little catchier than "Concerto in D minor for Two Violins and String Orchestra," or "Concert in F major for Four Horns and Orchestra." And who cares what key it's in?
The lights dim. The guest conductor strides onto the stage to sudden and sustained cheering, as if an applause sign went on somewhere. With his flawlessly erect carriage and mane of wavy white hair, he is perfectly cast for the part. Gazing out upon the audience, he seems to inhale our essence before gracefully descending into a bow.
He turns around to face the orchestra and the last of the applause dies out. He raises his baton. For a moment, there is a perfect, almost tense, stillness in the auditorium. Then, with a single movement of his arms, the room is suddenly filled with music ... music just as it was 200 years ago. No giant speakers or synthesizers or amplifiers. Just strings and wood and dozens of musicians moving in perfect concert. That word now takes on new meaning to me.
I'm surprisingly enthralled by the music. What a gift to our community to have an orchestra like this. I pass here every day on my way to work. Why haven't I availed myself of this treasure more often?
I hang on every note—for about five minutes. Then my mind begins to wander. I think about my 401(k). Should I use an index or managed fund?
Ten minutes later I'm brought back to the concert when the music stops. I'm just about to break into a vigorous applause when I realize no one else in the place is clapping. I look at Linda, baffled. How does everyone know they're not supposed to clap? Is there some sort of signal we're missing?
The music resumes and my mind wanders off again. I'm trying to recall the name of the actor who played the doctor in Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors. I just saw the movie for the third time on DVD the other day. Come on. What's his name? He used to be on Mission: Impossible. I can see his face and hear his voice. It's driving me nuts. Maybe if I think of something else it will come to me.
Several rows behind us, someone is trying to unwrap a piece of candy oh-so-quietly. But this only prolongs the operation. It is a tribute to the acoustics of this place that it sounds like he's sitting right behind us. I can tell that everyone in our section has one ear on the music and the other on the endless crinkling and crackling of the cellophane, which has to be, ounce for ounce, the loudest material on earth.
I can see the actor in North by Northwest. He had a small part. And he played Bela Lugosi in Ed Wood. Damn, what's his name?
On the stage, the great head of white hair is jerking up and down and sideways as the music rises. Below me is a sea of blue hairs. I'll bet the median age of this crowd is 70. Good for them for getting out on a night like tonight.
An hour later, I'm running through the letters of the alphabet trying to come up with the actor's name. I'm thinking his last name begins with L. Is it Landon? Michael Landon? No. He was on Bonanza and Little House on the Prairie. But there's an M and an L. What is it?
The music rises to a crescendo, then comes to a halt. Now the audience erupts into wild applause.
On the stage, there's a whole lot of bowing going on. The conductor bows to the audience. Then he bows to the orchestra, each bow causes an increase in applause, as if it were a laudable feat in itself. Then the solo violinists start bowing. They bow to each other, then to the orchestra, then to the conductor, who bows to them. This triple bow sends the audience into a polite delirium. There's even a whistle or two.
After pointing to each other, and bowing some more, the musicians and the conductor finally leave the stage and the applause dies like the wind in a room when you shut the window. We gather our coats and programs and head out into the lobby.
My wife squeezes my hand. So, what did you think of the concert?
"Oh, I thought it was great," I say in my limited musical lexicon. "Those violins and the French horns ... It was all so, so ... damn ... Martin Landau!"
-William C. White is publisher of Super Lawyers magazines.
