Ramble on--a review of sorts

The other night Jeff and I went to hear Mayuko Kamio, violinist and recent winner of the Tchaikovsky competition. The concert was in the Music Room of the Mansion at Strathmore--a lovely faux Tudor hall with a stone fireplace and elegant dark wainscoting. Going there feels like sitting in a very rich person's living room a long time ago, so I let my mind wander just as I used to do as a kid and took myself there.

I thought about how I should have lived in the 18th century or maybe the Regency. First, those Empire-waist dresses totally cover up the worst parts of my figure and emphasize the best. Second, I wasn't really cut out for hard work, and if I'd been born into the right family that just wouldn't have been necessary. And third, I just really love the music.

The first piece Kamio played was modern and horrible, so I ignored it. I could tell she played well technically, but there was nothing about the piece to recommend it to my notice or admiration. But then she played a Beethoven sonata, and I was in an Austenian heaven. This couldn't be my own living room, I mused. I don't think in any life I would be cut out for tremendous wealth. I'm more like the much-less-wealthy cousin of the landed gentry. I know what I need to know, but I don't have the money to live the lifestyle or even to pass as one of them.

So, anyway, I'm imagining myself sitting there in white muslin and pearls, my gloved hands clutching a small, useless fan, my myopic eyes wondering if I'm attracting any admirers of comfortable fortune. I don't need much--perhaps a gentleman farmer or a clergyman from a respectable family.

And then something happens that rips me out of this century and rudely thrusts me into my own. The violinist was playing the Beethoven so violently and passionately that she broke a string with a tremendous CRACK! I thought for a moment that the 300-year-old Stradivarius had shattered into firewood.

Jeff was not optimistic about her ability to replace the E string and keep it in tune. They need to season for about 30 minutes, he explained. But Kamio left the stage, replaced the string, and returned to pick up the sonata basically where she'd left off.

And the interruption, which had catapulted me into my own time and place, only served to renew her fire. She attacked the strings almost as though she hated them. Her bow seemed to saw the Stradivarius in half. It was the most rock and roll thing I'd ever seen in my life. I half expected her to set the Strad on fire and leap atop the grand piano. I nearly scrambled for a Bic lighter to hold up.

(I've since been updated by a young co-worker that cell phones are what cool young people hold up at concerts now, so please don't comment. I know I'm old. But in my defense, at classical concerts, you have to turn the damn things off.)

Perhaps I should have help up a candle.