Bow when you want. Clap when you can

Eating an Oh Henry bar at the symphony and other big moments from a night out

We went to the symphony this week and one of my favourite parts was watching the conductor and musicians receive their applause. They performed “Shelley, Strauss & Goosby,” and I know this only from going back to read my ticket, and not from any sophistication in my musical knowledge.

But I know what I like. And what I like are tickets five rows from the front that enable us to see the joy (free from the National Art Centre as a lovely gesture to lure people in). I like to watch the bows of violins hop and down in their skinny, jaunty way. And I enjoy how the cellos lie on the stage during intermission, like a row of kindergarten kids during nap time on the classroom floor (does that still happen?).

Holly and I shared an Oh Henry bar in our seats during intermission, which felt sneaky and illegal, but also delicious and rare.

Several times during the performance, the conductor ushered people out from a side room seemingly full of guest stars into which he would vanish and then reappear holding someone’s hand or guiding them by the arm, like a host. The guests would perform, or maybe just be there beside him for a moment or two, and we would all get to clap. One woman wore the most fabulous pair of glittery ankle boots. I still don’t know who she was, but I clapped for her. Then I clapped for her boots.

Everyone loved each other.

The National Arts Centre Orchestra musician-artists were, presumably, doing something they love to do.

We were there for the purpose of loving it.

This is all very obvious. This kind of thing has been going on since time began. The creating, the music making, all the joy. Performing. Receiving. Applauding. Appreciating. Jumping to your feet to show it. Sitting down for some more. Sharing pleased smiles with your daughter beside you. Spending an evening in the way of art. Beholding. Then, that little sad feeling with a stretch and a small yawn when it’s over, but also it’s been a couple of hours and how much beauty can a person take in one evening? (I’d started things off with fettuccine and two meat balls at Johnny Farina’s on Elgin, so things had been going very, very well for a few hours by that time. It was time to go home).

Watching the conductor conduct — which is its own art and maybe science — reminded me of this passage from Holiness Here:

On the radio once, as I was driving down the highway through Quebec, I heard an accomplished pianist tell a story about how he had been listening to a symphony on the radio and admired the arrangement and the skill of the players. As he listened to the orchestra, he found himself wishing he could play so smoothly and so free of fumbles. When the piece ended, the pianist was shocked and then delighted to learn it had been his very own orchestra playing. He himself had been playing in the recorded piece he had admired. It was his own skill and the skill of his playing partners he had accidentally enjoyed.

The pianist, whose name was James, said that musicians usually hear only what they do wrong, and that they are acutely aware of the dozens of little mistakes they might make while playing, which we ordinary listeners would probably never hear. They are their own harshest critics, like we all can be. Just look at a photo of yourself and see how you feel. But in hearing his orchestra play without realizing that there he was in the middle of it all, James allowed himself to relax and acknowledge and appreciate even a little bit his own skill in a way he would never have otherwise. He offered himself an accidental grace. He had given himself a tiny round of applause without knowing it. There was so much to admire in this story. The skill of the pianist, and his humility, of course. The years of practicing and the joy and anguish of performing, and the way the artist was so quick to appreciate others, and was surprised and embarrassed, yet pleased, when he accidentally admired his own orchestra’s piece.

For a moment, he saw he did beautiful work.

Isn’t that a cool story about James clapping for himself in his mind without knowing he was doing it? I loved this story so much that as I was driving I was talking into my notes app to capture the highlights of James’ adventure in self-appreciation. I knew I would use it somewhere and someday.

I knew it was a gem.

What I really want to say is, put yourself in the way of applause when you can. To offer it, of course. A bit wildly so your hands might hurt for a second. Be the one to get the applause first underway and let your clap linger longer than anyone else’s, maybe.

And if you receive some applause, well, that is a treasure, isn’t it? A gift. An embarrassing little joy.

Here’s another thing I thought that night. When the conductor brought out the guests, as I mentioned above, proudly, and I think pleased in a generous way that they were being appreciated and applauded by everyone there, I thought about heaven. I thought about being ushered in by the beaming conductor, being dazzled by the lights and then floored by some wild applause. Everyone looking their very best.

Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!

I hope that’s what it is like in those first few moments. It’s nice to think about.

In the meantime, take a bow every now and again, even if it’s just in your mirror. Receive the love.

And mostly, clap whenever you can. Give the love. Why wouldn’t we?