The other evening I attended a performance of stylistically widely-ranging works by various contemporary composers, some young-ish, others no longer with us. The playing was impressive.
I go to concerts the way some people go to the movies: I want to be overwhelmed, moved, charmed -- in other words, I want to experience something vividly outside of myself. This means I want to enjoy rather than feel obliged to think.
Enjoying a concert in this way is like enjoying a good meal: something will invariably stand out as special, like the minted rice that accompanied last week's curried chicken dish at a favorite Indian restaurant. Oddly, what stood out was a short work for two trumpets and French horn by Elliot Carter, written when he was 94. Convincingly exuberant, terse, witty--it had a lot going for it.
Mainly I left feeling sad that most of the music seemed directed to a small community of like-minded composers/players/listeners. Insular.
I recall the days when I felt obliged to have reactions to concerts; I no longer do. I just know what it feels like to have a good time and am grateful whenever I do.
