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As you were…
By: Tim Donahue
I went to Western’s Annual Piano Scholarship Recital and the first note went far beyond the scope of my very limited expertise. It was a night for both new and returning scholarship students to display the fruits of their labor in a concert that was free for all students and family members. I spent the evening without a clue.
I sat — sometimes, I even closed my eyes — and I let it all wash over me. I cannot hope to tell you the first thing about the craft, I’ll leave that to the experts, but I can tell you about the experience. Let me tell you why I love the Performing Arts Center, and why if given the opportunity I’d like to be resurrected as the Steinway & Sons piano that sits in its concert hall.
No words were spoken at the recital. In fact, other than a short introduction and a ‘thank you’ after the audience’s resounding standing ovation, I don’t think a single word was spoken all night. We praised with our hands and only our hands. I found myself scorning the frequent throat-clearers in the crowd, one person sneezed and the dirty looks were lethal. The silence was sacred.
For Two hours they played, and I spent the evening as a master puzzler. Each player came up from their line at the front row of the concert hall, exposed their face with a silent turn and bow to the audience, then sat straight-backed in reverie at the keys to perform their song. Every person played a song that only lasted a few minutes, but each performance was capped and strung into the next one. Every song was like another piece, fastened onto one that came before it and working in the name of a bigger picture. Zoom out, as I had the luxury of being able to do from my seat in the very back of the concert hall, and you could see the pieces clinging to their neighbors and forming something ethereal, a larger picture of sound that could have never stood alone.
It was the image of a life’s work, of a team’s combined effort, of dedication in practice towards a moment that may never strive for anything beyond the honor that it is to fill a silent room with sound, and applause.
It was a language unto itself, the piano was the translator that carried the performer’s voice and morphed it into music for the audience. The piano was something to be manipulated on Oct. 4 from 4-6 p.m., a place where identical notes could attack, retreat, or plead for sympathy from the audience. Hearts broke and lives were affirmed, and all of that could switch with the slightest manipulation of a single spidering finger.
The piano is something to be revered in the concert hall. The structure of the room, in all its amplifying glory, sucked the audience into deep focus on the instrument. Age, looks, and prejudices disappear as the sound reaches out and blinds the listener to a traditional view of the performer — just as the piano has been blinded all its life to anything but the sound.
Get your piano fill on Oct. 15 when Milica Jelača Jovanović performs a recital entitled “The Poetry of Piano Music” at 7:30 p.m. in the concert hall of the Performing Arts Center.
Photo Credits: Tim Donahue