Thank You.

I will ask for your forgiveness in advance, for this blog won’t be as humorous as you may be used to.  Not to fear, the happy-go-lucky, comic tone will be back tomorrow.  So, if what follows isn’t your cup of tea, then feel free to click away and there will be a new post up soon.

 Yesterday will be a day that I remember for the rest of my life.  No matter the mountain-top highs I reach and no matter the dark alleys I find myself stumbling into, this day can never be eradicated from my memory. 

Yesterday, we performed in the breathtakingly gorgeous and completely sold out John F. Kennedy Center in Washington D.C.    We, the National Youth Orchestra of the USA, were the sole responsibility for this gigantic gathering of people from all walks of life.  All of these people, carefully taking their seats in the Kennedy Center, had in some way heard about this group of talented young people  and for some reason had chosen to investigate just what was so peculiar about us. 

To me, this is spectacular in itself and truly, this occurrence is its own miracle.  Each time a concert is performed, every audience member opens themselves up to the performer or performers.  They can do this knowingly or unknowingly, it does not matter which.   Every person in the theater willingly carries their flaws with them.  It’s frightening to realize that social standing, financial status, or even outward demeanor is no longer available to hide behind when immersed in music.  And I believe that this fear is the main detractor from attendance at classical concerts.  It takes courage to open yourself up to the musicians before you and for many, this fear can be hard to overcome. 

But yesterday in the Kennedy center, the audience had accepted their vulnerability and asked the onstage strangers to assist them.  They ask the performers to carry on the baggage from their life’s journey and replace the luggage with the emotions that will be delivered through our instruments.  It is a massive and yet wholly personal and confidential transplant of experiences and memories.  This is what happens every single time that people gather to hear music.   It is a daily miracle and I can only hope it is viewed this way by all who participate in the processes.

So, as the guests arrived in the Kennedy Center, I felt their energy and anticipation.  For some reason, be it family ties, a review found in a newspaper, or a strategically-placed, eye-catching sign, they had chosen to walk into the hall.  And as the artists of the National Youth Orchestra, it became our responsibility to reveal to them our gratitude, our sympathies, and our love.  And we did.  In the scope of our lives, this concert took place in just one breath.  But in that one breath, we were their oxygen, their morphine, their medication.  We became Shostakovich’s message in a bottle.  We fortified our sound with bricks taken from the Berlin Wall, we found expression, pain, and confusion in the death of Stalin, and we bathed in a rich cultural heritage that was not our own.  This was what we delivered to the people of the Kennedy Center.  And though history may have dated the work long before many of us were even conceived, emotions like these will always be universal.  The woman sitting three rows back doesn’t find herself free from the terror of communism.  But instead, she may find herself bewildered and confused after the passing of an abusive husband.  A man in the left mezzanine level, is not separated from his parents by the Iron Curtain but by the mere fabric of time and circumstance, which is an equally impenetrable barrier.  

And music will not solve their problems.  There are limitations to what music can do.  Music cannot change the past.  Music cannot stop a bullet.  Music cannot bring back a loved one.  But, music is the company you keep.  Music can sympathize.  Music can comfort.  Music can listen. 

I think it was six times.  Six times Valery Gergiev came out on the stage.  Six times we bowed.  But before all of that--before the applause began, something much more profound and meaningful happened.   Immediately after the last echo resonated around the hall, there was an exhale.    The air that had just resonated with sound waves and filled the inside of the audience, now found itself clinging to the last chord.  But this widespread exhale means that the comfort we gave, the feelings we presented, the oxygen we transmitted had been absorbed into the blood stream of the audience.  This gasp was not a return of what we had given, it was a relinquishing of what they had brought. 

I’m sure the Kennedy Center air reeks from the emotions of the audience.  It reeks of pain, deceit, and maybe even reeks of joy.  But, outside, the atmosphere is marginally cleaner and echoes of our sound still resonate in the air around those who attended the concert.   This has always been my goal for music.    And because of tonight’s experience, I know that this feeling can sustain me until I can no longer breath the emotions of others. 

As much as our music has done for those who attended the July 13^th concert at the Kennedy Center, it has accomplished so much more in the life of at least one musician who performed.  To those in the audience, I want to thank you.  May we never forget the exchange of life and love that occurred today and the many more that we will be a part of in the future.