Skip to main content

One Final Thing About Orchestra

This morning around 3:00ish, I got up and bundled up with jeans and socks and shoes, a big coat and a scarf, and I went outside to see the Leonid meteor shower. It was cloudy to the south but clear to the north, and I hoped the sky would clear so I could see something remarkable. It didn't.

I did see a brilliant streak through a break in the clouds, though, and that was enough to make me settle in on a cold, metal chair to see the show. The thing is, there was no show. In the 20 minutes I sat outside, I saw only three or four meteor streaks, and that was it. What proved more interesting were the sounds you can hear in the middle of the night in a neighborhood like mine.

You can hear traffic from the highway with truck tires making different tones from car tires, and you can hear the furnace kick on. You can hear the wind rattle the empty trees and the leaves they've dropped being pushed along the pavement with that same wind. I never heard a single dog bark, but I did hear some crunching in the trees across the street by what I thought might be deer hooves.

I finally gave up on the shower and went back in, tucked myself back into the warm bed, and went to sleep with a cat hogging most of the pillow. Now, I think it's time for a nap.

Not to belabor the point, but here is one final entry in my series of orchestra posts for you to read while I nod off for a little bit. It was yesterday's column in Small Town Newspaper.

•••

The White House has hosted several installments of a music series this year, providing young students with an opportunity to meet accomplished musicians performing jazz, country and Latin forms of music. Just two weeks ago, the White House opened its doors for a day of classical music.

One hundred twenty middle school and high school students from around the country participated in workshops and master classes conducted by world-class musicians—violinist Joshua Bell, guitarist Sharon Isben, pianist Awadagin Pratt and cellist Alisa Weilerstein. The Blue Room and the Map Room and the East Room were transformed into lesson rooms, and the day was capped off by a classical concert.

How fortunate for those select students to be exposed to such talent and to see where hard work and determination can lead. And how beneficial for all young people to see their nation’s leadership place such high value on the arts.

Closer to home than Washington, D.C., our area of Ohio is chock full of opportunities for students interested in classical music. Most local school districts are not able to provide an orchestra program, but there are some exceptions. Students from these few programs have gone on to join the Canton Youth Symphony, and farther north to join the Akron Youth Symphony and the youth orchestra in Cleveland.

Many more have found a welcoming seat right here at home in the Tuscarawas Philharmonic where they have been able to express their love of music making for decades beyond their school years. One such musician is Carol France, a Dover resident who learned to play the violin in elementary school and joined the orchestra in 1948. Years later, Carol is still going strong as a musician, a role she relishes as her avocation.

I have only been playing with the Philharmonic for nine years, but I have come to cherish my place in the group as well. Because my high school had a large wind orchestra, I was exposed to beautiful music as a budding French horn player. But then I set the instrument aside for twenty years and did not rediscover the joy of it until my late thirties. Now, after years of private lessons and hours of practicing in an attempt to make up for lost time, I know full well the importance of having an outlet for music making, and I know the hole not having this outlet leaves behind.

Last week, the Philharmonic performed its first concert of the season, and even during rehearsals, I often found myself nearly overwhelmed with appreciation for the group. Without this local orchestra, something that is rare in a rural area like Tuscarawas County, I would be sitting alone in my house with a French horn and no place to play. I’m not kidding when I say the mere idea of such a possibility makes me shiver and gasp with dread.

Of course, I can play privately and enjoy the solitary experience on some level, but what I can achieve as an individual pales in comparison to the accomplishment of an entire orchestra. A stage full of musicians working as a unified group can create an experience that transcends the mere notes on the page, an experience that is shared by both the musicians and the audience members alike.

I recognize not everyone prefers classical music—some people just don’t enjoy it, and some people falsely think of it as elitist. But a classical performance is about so much more than the music that is played. It expresses and inspires a full range of emotions, and it demonstrates a level of creativity and thought that is uniquely human.

In an age when even metropolitan orchestras are folding for lack of funds, it is my hope that more area residents will recognize the value of our local orchestra and see it as the rare gem that it is. Having an orchestra of our own is an asset that makes classical music accessible to everyone.

It is also my hope that local musicians, both students and adults, can continue to discover inspiration and encouragement in their own back yard and not have to travel all the way to the White House to find it.

Comments

E said…
December 13th-14th is the next big shower. We are watching. Its the day after your next concert right?
dive said…
Shame about the Leonids, Robyn, but hey, three or four falling stars is three or four more wishes you get.

Another great and inspiring orchestra piece, too.

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...