It’s all a power game, really. We performers like to know we own the audience, for some tiny portion of their lives. And out here in the community, sometimes we own them in a way that is maybe a bit different than for other ensembles.
Two tales from recent performances. The group is a concert band. The event is an outdoor summer twilight concert, one in a regular series put on by an enlightened town with a park and facilities designed for such things. It’s been a hot day, but the park is cool.
First story. The piece, which has “sunset” in the name, is an elegiac tribute to a fallen soldier. It has a quiet theme that begins in the horns and is then led by the oboe. This builds to a warm, glorious brassiness of noise, that enfolds the audience, then calms back down to the home theme. This time the oboe sings the same quiet melody, then plays a low note, a capella, that hovers in the air alone for two full bars, until the horns and clarinets join again to look for resolution, and the piece ends with a very quiet chord that still hangs on a bit of wistful dissonance. The music dies away, the audience is looking at the pinks and reds of the sunset that has appeared in the sky behind the band, and the sound of the cicadas has taken the air. The audience is on the edge of their chairs, but totally unable to move until the conductor finally drops his arms.
Second story: the band strikes up an old favorite in their programming, a medley of songs made famous by Vera Lynn. The band’s guest soprano smiles and starts in with “there’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover tomorrow, just you wait and see”. Many in the audience begin to tap their feet and they all connect with the singer. But one older gentleman pulls out a handkerchief, and begins to wipe his eyes. He cries silently through the whole piece; the woman sitting next to him holds his hand. And he is on his feet to applaud when the singer has finished.
When the audience trusts the performers, and feels connected to them, they can let their emotions open up. It’s a wonderful part of reminding people how good it is to be alive.
