The past four weeks have been extraordinary, even for someone accustomed as I am to living at the more “vivid” or “textured” extremes of human experience.
I like the word “texture” because it acknowledges the rough and the smooth, without commentary; the whole of one’s experience is recognized, accepted, without moral judgement or distinction.
In this post, I want to tell you about just one piece of that texture, which also happens to be one of the most wonderful things I’ve experienced in a long time.
Pekka Kuusisto is the world’s greatest living violinist. He has had a great effect on my life, in manners I won’t describe here beyond noting the way that experiencing something of great beauty changes the way you see the world. A good portion of my “Most Played” are his recordings – Bach, Vivaldi and of course fellow Finn, Sibelius. In my mental thesaurus – and probably to my friends’ bemused exasperation – he’s affectionately known as “the divine Pekka” (with accompanying self-mocking hand-pats to the heart).
I discovered that on Sunday 8th May he was playing a gig at Bennett’s Lane, a jazz club in Melbourne’s CBD. Having attended an acquaintance’s book launch that afternoon, I’d hung around in the city for a few hours, experiencing a chill, drizzly Melbourne evening.
I must admit that, damp and cold, my faith wavered a little. After all, I had a long drive home after the performance, and a week’s work ahead of me –I’m not at my best when sleep-deprived; was this chance to see my favourite performer worth some days’ discomfort? Yes, I determined, being among the first through the door and securing a front-row table.
I am not a music critic, so I won’t attempt to describe the concert in technical terms. I will acknowledge that until Finnish jazz pianist Iiro Rantala introduced the concert, I had been unaware that there existed a tradition of tango composition in Finland! Pekka restored my stereotypes of Finnish music by pointing out (?jokingly) that most Finnish tango composers drank themselves to death, even as young as thirty seven ...
I can, however, say a few words about how I experienced their performance.
Pekka and Iiro were electric on the stage. Both of them played with their whole bodies – I swear, even their eyebrows and earlobes contributed to that alchemy of an expert duo playing incredible music! As I said to my companion during interval, I’m not quite sure whether the best analogy is sexual – their focus on each other was so intense – or canine, because (and I mean this in no derogatory sense whatsoever) even when their eyes were focussed elsewhere, their attention was on each other – just as one can observe between dogs.
Pekka is a true master of the violin. Whether he’s playing a Bach partita (yes, during a jazz concert!) or holding it banjo-like and plucking an accompaniment to his whistled tune; whether beating an amazing array of sounds out of his precious instrument or bowing so vehemently that hairs are flying apart with each stroke, he is in total control of each sound produced (with the endearing exception of accidently striking the goose-neck microphone stand at the conclusion of one piece).
After the performance I had the chance to speak with Pekka (twice!), Iiro and tour manager Henk. I will admit to becoming a little starstruck when Pekka gave me a small embrace upon hearing that I took up the violin after hearing him live for the first time. I did restrain myself from asking if I could have my photo taken with him: how gauche! (But, in hindsight, would I have been happier now? No, my memories are ample mementos).
I have been to many concerts in my life, but this has joined that very short list of nights I will never forget. The memory of it lies in my heart like a jewel: glittering, enduring; a talisman against mediocrity; a reminder that life can contain Robert Henri’s “more than ordinary moments of existence”.
I type these words after a few rough days in which my psyche has been battered and bruised. Upon reflection, I’m glad that busy-ness kept me from writing about this concert until now: today, in particular, I needed to touch base with beauty, be reminded of the hours of perspiration which allow inspiration to flourish, to rebuild my defences against the drabness of an accumulation of oh-so-ordinary moments.
People who give us these moments of beauty ... we owe them so much. I’m not talking now about virtuosos, but about the down-to-earth kindnesses we can show each other. Typing this I’m reminded of others who have shown me grace and beauty this week: the student who chose not to get angry when he was kept waiting for help because I was disciplining others; the attendant at the petrol station who meant it when she wished me a “good day”. Please don’t let me sound preachy or idealistic! The world isn’t always that kind. But it can be. And that’s a good thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment