Hear No Evil, See No Evil

I don’t normally go to the see the orchestra, because that’s not my kind of music, but I rarely turn down invitations, even if the event is not my style. My friend Nick invited me to an Azerbaijani concert, a form of Russian music which I could only begin to describe as the fusion of Eastern and Western sounds fitting into one melody in two very distinct ways. I once heard that when listening, it’s best to close your eyes. So, in order to look like I knew what I was doing (which, obviously, I didn’t) I intended to close them… until I caught a brief glimpse of the visual harmony of the orchestra. The music I heard was exquisite, but the most enchanting part of the orchestra, for me, was the way they moved.

I resisted blinking. The way the violinists’ bodies heaved and collapsed in the wake of their music, pushed and commanded by the hand of the conductor like a Poseidon of song. Their bows, bowing and erecting at the flick of his wand, which floated danced poked prodded urging them, egging them on, like an ambitious didactic trying to prove a point. Maestro’s arms cradled the air when he chose to soften his symphony, as if to lay a sleeping child to rest. To me he seemed, fatherly, Godly even, in his ability to flex the chasm between his passion and his control. He reigned over the musicians, the instruments, over me. He hypnotized.

The quivering hand of the cellists did not produce a trembling note but rather a confident wave of vibrato, luring me deep inside its tragedy. Their heads bobbed in unison, and I sat enraptured wondering how they could simultaneously meditate to the sound they just birthed. I was affected, and you could see it on my skin.

I can’t say that I would have ever experienced that if I were in New York. New York has concerts such as the one above equally as often as London, but I don’t know if someone like me would even consider attending an orchestra back home. It's too... unusual. But I suppose that is the thing about being away from home: a routine is absent from your life for so long, you can’t even remember what it used to be.

It’s kinda nice.