Moscow State Symphony by Jo

The stage is set. Different colored banners splaying names of several European cities hang from the rafters above the stage. Hideously distasteful wood paneling comes together in imperfect angles to form makeshift walls. Chairs are placed in a heliocentric arc around the conductor’s box. Following a brief announcement, musicians file out one by one and calmly take their seats. The conductor takes his place on the stand and signals his players to warm up their instruments. Inharmonious and chaotic noises leap out of the instruments and ricochet around the room, exciting the awaiting audience. The sounds come to a filtering halt at the conductor’s cue. He proceeds to say something quietly to the performing group, counts off the beat, and with a quick swipe of his baton the show begins.

Fingers work as prancing spiders upon violin strings while a smooth bass line moves the piece along. The piece is engaging, and the musicians are enthusiastic while maintaining stern composures. Their muscles push and retract their bows like swords in a pirates’ duel. Fiercely emotions are pushed into the instruments only to come out the other side as images and colors that dance around the theatre. Their sharp and bounding movements combined with the animation of the music bares resemblance to that of The Triplets of Belleville.

The conductor’s spasmodic movements and dynamic activity are truly comical. He resembles a charismatic mime, coaxing his musicians to embody the piece. The small amount of hair remaining atop his head flies up and down with his quick, agile motions. His movements are as a crazed puppeteer, pulling and tugging at the strings of his little marionettes to create a fanatic spectacle.

The performance decelerates and glides into a lull in which it is very hard to pay attention to matters of the stage. The mind begins to drift and notice things elsewhere. As Mr. Horner dozes lightly besides me, I realize that every man on the stage could be a Peter. But, as expected, I am mistaken. I realize there is one who looks to be a Charles. Suddenly, my eyes are averted. One of the musician’s pant legs had moved just slightly so that he was showin’ some skin in the shin-vicinity. This stark contrast between the pasty whiteness of his leg and the all black attire sported by every musician was quite an amusement. While I made these keen observations, the orchestral music proved to be a delightful and enchanting background.

The audience is aroused back to consciousness as the performance comes to a close. Following three brief but exaggerated encores, the afternoon has finally ended. Even though it wasn’t always the music keeping my attention, the whole of the experience, if I may be so quaint, was simply a marvel.