Magic

Sorry about all the blog pollution... but I wanted to share a review of the Canadian Brass concert I went to at Transy last Wednesday. Anyway, here it is:

Brass quintets are not known for their ability to captivate the imaginations of children. Children are not known for their capacity to sit still for two hours. People from poor urban neighborhoods are not supposed to get excited about hearing excerpts from French ballet. One doesn't usually recommend listening to excerpts from Bizet's Carmen as an evening activity for a single mother and her three kids. And no one thinks Canadians are funny, eh? But sometimes music captivates, and sometimes music calms. Sometimes music excites, and sometimes music enthralls. On Wednesday night, as the Canadian Brass performed as a part of Transylvania's Dorothy J. and Fred K. Smith endowed concert series, music was magical.

One of the hats I wear is that of the music director at the Salvation Army in Lexington, Kentucky. One of the goals of my job is to make music available to children who may not have access to musical experiences otherwise, be it as a result of their families socio-economic condition or cultural barriers. We provide instruction and instrument rentals free of charge. Most of the children in our program have never been exposed to art music of any kind, or in any way. So when Dr. Ben Hawkins, from Transylvania University, approached me a few weeks ago, wondering if I would be interested in bringing some of our students to the Canadian Brass concert, without hesitation I said yes.

With eyes opened wide my rag-tag bunch of little musicians marched their way into Haggin Auditorium's balcony. This unruly bunch, which based on appearance looked more prepared for a soccer match then an "endowed concert series," made their way in with their ticket in one hand and the program in the other, wearing an expression on their face that reflected the excitement they felt inside. They had never been to a concert before, and what was about to unfold before them was mysterious and exciting. I had seen this look before. I had been in this situation before. This was not MY first time at the rodeo... I mean, concert hall. I had taken groups of students to concerts in the past, and I knew how these looks of excitement would soon be washed away by the horror inducing task of sitting still and listening to music. So I did my best to temper expectations and remind them of the importance of not screaming in the middle of a piece of music. I was already preparing to present with them with a revisionist history on the drive home, in an attempt to convince them that they had just enjoyed the hour they'd spent picking their nose and counting light bulbs in the hall. We would only be an hour because I'd been here, and done this before; I knew we'd have to leave early when the cold, annoyed stares of the crusty faithful would become too much for me to bear. But sometimes music transcends.

While the stage was still unmounted, the music began. The quintet began playing Just A Closer Walk in the fashion of an old New Orleans Dixieland band as they marched in below us. Climbing to the edge of their seats my students alternated looks for any sign of the mysterious quintet they could only begin to imagine, and glances at me in hopes of a clue. When the quintet finally emerged they seemed as confused about the appropriate apparel for this event as my bedazzled band of little bandsmen. Their nicely tailored suits were accented by matching pairs of white and pink tennis shoes. And where were the seats these Canadians would sit motionless in, anyway? Casting aside traditional elements and expectations for an evening of "serious" music they continued to play. One piece after another they played their repertoire, and with only one or two exceptions they played the concert entirely from memory. The performance was so engaging, visually and musically, that even the most seasoned and critical concertgoer forgot to be bothered by the halls poor acoustics and the occasional missed note. The comedic shtick and elaborate choreography would have seemed contrived if not for the exceptional musicianship. Even as they "danced" to selections from French Ballet, with a tutu-ed trombone to boot, the music never seemed to be overcome by the goofing around. And the kids listened, really listened.

Usually kids can't wait for a concert to end. They often communicate this desire by continually asking if it is, in fact, over yet. But tonight was different, after intermission they hurried back to their seats and eagerly waited for the second half. As the quintet played excerpts from Carmen while dressed as the four main characters (plus the tuba being dressed as a bull) from the opera, the kids sat with their attention fixed on the performance. Gabrielle, a single mother who had come along with her three children, looked back at me from her seat a few rows in front of mine. Her tear-filled eyes expressed a sincere gratitude too deep for words. For at least one night, the financial burdens so ever-present in the life of a poor single mom seemed far away, and the pressures of raising three kids all alone, that weigh so heavy, seemed just a little lighter as she sat there with her three kids and listened to the music.

When I took the kids home I didn't have to trick them into thinking they had fun. Actually, I didn't have to say much at all. I just listened to the best sounds I heard all night, the sounds of kids dreaming out loud. They made plans to start their own brass quintets. They asked me if I was that good, and they told me that they would be that good one day. They bounded from the bus and burst into their homes and I heard the stories begin to run as they told their parents all about Carmen, bulls and tutu-ed trombones. And I was reminded of something I often forget - that music can be magical.