A Walker in the Suburbs

Long ago, when I was a musical purist, I would have thought it gauche to listen to only one movement of a recorded symphony. In most cases, I enjoyed the entire piece anyway, but even if I didn’t, diligence kept me on task. If I was going to thrill with the allegro, then I would muse with the adagio.

For several years now, though, my approach to music has been the aural equivalent of “eat dessert first.”  If I feel like listening only to the last movement of Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony, then that’s what I do.

Maybe it’s a matter of time, or lack thereof. Maybe I’m just giving in to a need for immediate gratification. I could also blame it on Washington’s classical radio station, which routinely cherrypicks the most notable movements of a concerto or symphony and seldom plays a piece in its entirety.

No doubt about it, listening to an entire work is a different experience, more ennobling, a journey rather than a destination. But these days I’m discovering the particular pleasures of listening to what I love best. In other words, to co-opt the catchphrase … Life is uncertain. Last movements first.

The players were beginners, but they were not. Beginners at music, but not at life. And so the music they made, while tentative, was full of life and experience. It was brave and it was beautiful.

There was the violinist who tackled a duet with Latin flair. A clarinetist who brought Mozart to life. The cellist who played “The Swan.” Two pianists, one who played simple notes, the other more complex ones. “I just don’t want to have to start over,” the latter admitted before she began. She didn’t have to.

Tonight is the first fall rehearsal of the Reston Community Orchestra — the sessions I attended this summer were open to all — so this will be a beginner night for me. I’ve tuned and practiced and hope that I’m ready.

But as the players this weekend showed me, sometimes you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The only thing left … is to play.

At last night’s rehearsal we played Brahms’ “Academic Festival Overture.” It’s an expansive piece of music, a war horse, often played, and one of my faves. It ends with the tune known as “Gaudeamus Igitur.”

I looked it up this morning and learned that in addition to an academic processional, Gaudeamus is also a rowdy drinking song with a “carpe diem” flavor. It’s also known as “De Brevitate Vitae,” or “On the Shortness of Life.”


Here’s an English translation of the Latin:

While we’re young, let us rejoice,
Singing out in gleeful tones;
After youth’s delightful frolic,
And old age (so melancholic!),
Earth will cover our bones.

I like to think that while I was sawing away at those eighth notes and dotted quarters, the hair rising on the back of my neck as it does when I play, a chorus of ghosts was hovering around us, chanting these words.