No. 14 on the list was to go to a classical concert. The reason behind this was I simply wanted to hear - really hear - and have that experience of hearing music played in a room.
My interaction with music has changed significantly over the last few years. A lot of the time I am in silence, when I would either have had music or my beloved Radio 4 on in the background. Since my initial Covid infection, I very easily get overwhelmed by noise. Any noise, from the horrific and monotonous drone of machinery - garden strimmers and leaf blowers are particularly bad - to even the most gentle of music can leave me completely drained of energy. I’ve also found that if want to listen to something, I will just listen - not use sound as a background to fill up space.
There is, however a strong desire within me to hear real music. To feel the vibrations of the playing, not of the recording. Over the last year I’ve been to a few concerts, seeking out venues that are quieter in nature and not so overwhelming. What I haven’t done as an adult was go to a classical performance, and this is why it is on the list. There were encounters with classical music throughout my childhood and I’ve written a little about it here.
I have a mixed relationship to classical music. I was bought up surrounded by it, but not immersed in it. We had family friends that were very keen music buffs. One had a tape collection of Radio 3 concerts - ‘why on earth would you do that’ - my teenage self wondered, as she sat there diligently pressing record and stop as her favourite songs played on the Top 40 countdown on a Sunday evening. My parents had a mix of classical and, what I can only term as easy listening music. All of which I thought was hideously UNCOOL. Instead I founded my listening in the pop music of the early 1980s and then a path through grunge and indie.
I’ve also struggled with the distinction of classical music, the implied snobbery that goes with it. The uncoolness of admitting that you liked classical music. I would secretly listen to a very limited selection of classical CDs when I was studying at university. I found music without lyrics so much easier to listen to when you were working with words.
Several years ago, one of those convoluted encounters of fate found me at a talk by Clemency Burton-Hill about her book A Year of Wonder. 1
After the talk, I bought the book, queued up for the signing and ended up with Clemency talking about how music affects our brainwaves. The next day I dived into the book and it was a revelation. The book introduced me to many new composers, and allowed a way of exploring music that was so accessible. I worked through this volume daily and then the subsequent volume a few years later. What I found was that I was less fond of the traditional big names - I’ll whisper it here - *I really don’t like Mozart* - but I also found music that I really adored - Arvo Pärt being one of those composers. (And from Pärt I was led to Benjamin Britten.)
So that is how I ended up on Friday night with the work of Arvo Pärt.
I needed to be in London for an appointment. I’d been searching for concerts of Pärt’s music since the Autumn, and there was a concert at the nearby Barbican with first two pieces by Arvo Pärt and Benjamin Britten respectively. It was fate.
The Arvo Pärt piece was Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten. This has become one of my all time favourite pieces of music. It’s a mere six minutes long and it is the tubular bells that get me every time. Even writing this now I can feel the emotion stirring as I remember the performance. (I do hesitate with a slight shudder as I type tubular bells as this brings to mind instantly Mike Oldfield - I guess you have to be a certain age to make the connection.)
Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten was the first piece of the concert. I sat there and listened, feeling the music, the bells resonating through the air and from the very first note, the tears fell.
Writing about it now, remembering how it felt, the whole experience of the venue, the shuffling on stage of the orchestra as they tune up. The established tradition of the lead violinist coming on, followed by the conductor. The rippled applause as the conductor takes a bow. Then the lights dim, a hushed silence falls over the room, a pause and then that first sound of the bell … My eyes are again wet, and the laptop screen is becoming hazy and I cry.
I love sad music, I adore music that makes me cry, it doesn’t make me sad but instead makes a deep emotional connection inside. 2
You can listen to the concert here for the next month, as it was streamed by BBC Radio 3.
I’m listening to the concert again as I write this. I quickly give up streaming from my phone - I know better, the sound quality is awful. I switch to the speakers - they are mid-range, nothing special and again I missing something. Then I go for the headphones - I do have one pair of very good headphones - a legacy of being the daughter of a hi-fi aficionado is that I can’t tolerate anything with poor sound quality (please don’t get me started on Echo’s and Alexa’s for playing music).
Even with these headphones I am missing the richness of the concert. The feeling of the resonance from the tubular bells. What Pärt dubbed his ‘tintinnabuli’ technique (and yes I did get this from the concert programme). For the six minutes of the performance I sat there transfixed, listening and feeling each and every one of those bells as the other instruments swirl around them. In the recording THAT is what is lacking.
The second piece was Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem. If it had been one of his cello pieces I think I may have unraveled completely. Instead here we have drums that build and build in the first movement, in the final movement flutes take us out to the end of the piece. Again the music swirls, this time I am not crying but enjoying the performance, of seeing the integration as the orchestra plays as one.
It was a good night.
There is now a follow up ‘Another Year of Wonder’ - I highly recommend both for bringing a range of music in to your daily life. There are playlists set up for most (if not all) of the music streaming sites. Clemency suffered a catastrophic brain haemorrhage in 2020 and is an absolute inspiration on how to find joy in your life. For more on Clemency’s books - click here.
Laura Barton did a fabulous series on Radio 4 called Notes of Music - this one is about the appeal of sad songs https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000td0t
There is something deeply stirring about the sound of orchestral instruments in the right setting I think. I've seen very little classical music live but even something like watching The Godfather at the Royal Albert Hall with a full orchestra playing the soundtrack was enough to get me going. And yes, I love sad music too
I love the music of Arvo Pärt. Will listen to the recording this evening — thank you!
Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Lark Ascending’ moves me deeply. If you’re interested, there is a performance on YT of the Australian Chamber Orchestra and Richard Tognetti (the artistic director of the ACO) performing it.