"Your seat is on the upper tier. They will open the doors during intermission, so you can take your seat then."
"Intermission?"
"Yes, the performance has already started, so you'll have to wait 36 minutes to take your seat."
"But that's after Bach and Beethoven?! That's why I came here. I just came from work, teaching up in the Bronx, and got here as soon as I could."
"I'm very sorry. I would love to seat you, but the rules are set by the artist's management."
"Is there any way I can just slip in the back and stand?"
"Sorry, there's nothing we can do."
I walked up the stairs. Of course the train had to stop underground for seven minutes while I waited helplessly inside.
I had climbed several flights when an usher told me there was a viewing room on the top tier, so I headed that way, only to find out it wasn't working. I soon realized I wasn't alone. Dozens of other normal looking classical music fans had also arrived just a tad too late to get inside to see what we all came for. I could certainly hear someone playing Bach on piano through the walls, but the sound was distorted and shaky. This would not do for "Apassionata."
Luckily it was a sunny warm day again, and there was a great view of Lincoln Center and Columbus Avenue. Soon I overheard a few other late people trying to negotiate with the usher, who kept explaining that he was simply following the management's orders. The usher even shot down the completely rational suggestion that we be allowed in once he finished the first piece because there would be loud applause and he would even walk offstage for a little while.
Soon two of them were sharing their complaints with me, which I didn't mind because they were very elegantly dressed young women. But then, soon after we began talking, the man on the walkie talkie started motioning to everyone that the artist's management said they could let people in quickly during the applause, so we all rushed in. But then I realized I was on the wrong tier, and I had to run up one more to the top to find my door. I made it just in time, found my row (which had many empty seats), and then grabbed the first seat I could see since I couldn't make out any of the numbers anyway.
"Apassionata" was out of this world. I remember listening to that piece on vinyl lying on my floor in Bushwick during my first year in New York and my friend finally saying that nobody made music even close to that anymore.
During the intermission I got up and saw I was sitting in seat 114.
Afterward he played one piece by Schumann and three by Chopin, before a three song encore.
When it was over it was 5 pm and still completely sunny outside. I got some groceries at Columbus Circle while floating on Mozart, and then took the train up to Harlem. I remembered I had to move my car for street sweeping, and soon realized that I should do it much earlier on Sunday's because all the spots were taken. So I drove around for some time before I got a spot 20 blocks north. I hadn't changed clothes since coming home, so I was still wearing my blazer and dress shirt from work, not the warmest get up for post-sunset March in New York. Luckily I had a lamp lit stroll along the Hudson River to keep my soul warm. And "Place to Be" by Hiromi, a song that didn't exist when I lived in New York City before. I like to think of that song as proof that they not only make music as well as they did 200 years ago, but certain artistic beauty has surpassed the wildest dreams of music lovers past.
"Intermission?"
"Yes, the performance has already started, so you'll have to wait 36 minutes to take your seat."
"But that's after Bach and Beethoven?! That's why I came here. I just came from work, teaching up in the Bronx, and got here as soon as I could."
"I'm very sorry. I would love to seat you, but the rules are set by the artist's management."
"Is there any way I can just slip in the back and stand?"
"Sorry, there's nothing we can do."
I walked up the stairs. Of course the train had to stop underground for seven minutes while I waited helplessly inside.
I had climbed several flights when an usher told me there was a viewing room on the top tier, so I headed that way, only to find out it wasn't working. I soon realized I wasn't alone. Dozens of other normal looking classical music fans had also arrived just a tad too late to get inside to see what we all came for. I could certainly hear someone playing Bach on piano through the walls, but the sound was distorted and shaky. This would not do for "Apassionata."
Luckily it was a sunny warm day again, and there was a great view of Lincoln Center and Columbus Avenue. Soon I overheard a few other late people trying to negotiate with the usher, who kept explaining that he was simply following the management's orders. The usher even shot down the completely rational suggestion that we be allowed in once he finished the first piece because there would be loud applause and he would even walk offstage for a little while.
Soon two of them were sharing their complaints with me, which I didn't mind because they were very elegantly dressed young women. But then, soon after we began talking, the man on the walkie talkie started motioning to everyone that the artist's management said they could let people in quickly during the applause, so we all rushed in. But then I realized I was on the wrong tier, and I had to run up one more to the top to find my door. I made it just in time, found my row (which had many empty seats), and then grabbed the first seat I could see since I couldn't make out any of the numbers anyway.
"Apassionata" was out of this world. I remember listening to that piece on vinyl lying on my floor in Bushwick during my first year in New York and my friend finally saying that nobody made music even close to that anymore.
During the intermission I got up and saw I was sitting in seat 114.
Afterward he played one piece by Schumann and three by Chopin, before a three song encore.
When it was over it was 5 pm and still completely sunny outside. I got some groceries at Columbus Circle while floating on Mozart, and then took the train up to Harlem. I remembered I had to move my car for street sweeping, and soon realized that I should do it much earlier on Sunday's because all the spots were taken. So I drove around for some time before I got a spot 20 blocks north. I hadn't changed clothes since coming home, so I was still wearing my blazer and dress shirt from work, not the warmest get up for post-sunset March in New York. Luckily I had a lamp lit stroll along the Hudson River to keep my soul warm. And "Place to Be" by Hiromi, a song that didn't exist when I lived in New York City before. I like to think of that song as proof that they not only make music as well as they did 200 years ago, but certain artistic beauty has surpassed the wildest dreams of music lovers past.
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