There are many things I love about growing a beard / facial hair.
1) It looks damn good;
2) I look even older (sophisticated and sexy) than I already do and am mistaken for a grad student (since they’re all sophisticated and sexy #lol), even in my own classes (awkward);
3) My face has a built-in blanket for the cold, terrible winter months; and,
4) Face goosebumps are the best goosebumps.
However, these face goosebumps (not facial goosebumps because that sounds too weird) only happen in rare, beautiful occasions. “Rare†in that I don’t get myself to concerts that often and even then, only classical music gives me full body goosebumps where I feel like I have stopped living and am inhabiting transcendence itself. Aka that means nothing but I feel everything.
Last night I was able to attend the UM Symphony Band’s first seasonal concert at the majestic Hill Auditorium. Every time I step into Hill I forget that I pass it daily as I sprint, late, to class; I forget how I hate how big society is (although I do love cities . . .); I forget that I live 3 minutes down the road and that I can touch most ceilings with my hand if not head. Going to this venue is going-out in its finest sense–I dress up, cleanse my mind, and the seat I choose becomes my reason for living for 2-4 hours. I don’t have to worry about my thesis, I don’t have to think about my paper due tomorrow (now today), I don’t have to cope with dramatic boys, I don’t have to do a lot of things. The only thing I have and want to do is to sit and listen, absorb and reflect, and be in a state of becoming-child (#Deleuze).
Hill Auditorium is itself distracting when inside it. It’s so big. Every time I choose my seat I stare all around myself and I think that I need to update my glasses prescription. I think about how the space that I can’t discern is going to be filled with music and its mind-blowing. It’s overwhelming. It makes me . . . get goosebumps on my face. (First case, amazing buildings and space.)
Then I remember that this concert is free. (Second case, I love free things–face goosebumps follow realization.)
AND THEN I REMEMBER THEY ARE ABOUT TO PLAY MY FAVORITE PIECE, movement two from Bernstein’s Jeremiah Symphony, “Profanation.†(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGVRaUj-YLk) GOOSEBUMPS GOOSEBUMPS GOOSEBUMPS.
Every (other) song the band performs is great. It’s rare that I listen to new (classical-ish) music and fall in love. There was so much love, however. And then, of course, they decide to play the Bernstein post-intermission and I feel as if I will simultaneously pee myself, vomit, and pass out all until the beginning notes of this masterpiece are played. Since I’ve heard this piece before live (and have studied the score . . .) I know which parts are difficult and every time the trumpets don’t frack a note my heart starts to soar higher. Every time everyone is syncopated at the same time I feel myself letting out an “AHHHHHH†and I fall deeper into my seat as if the earth is opening up just to save me from this moment of pure joy.
I never want it to end and for me it never will. This concert is everything I wanted. It acts as an escape from some parts of life and lets me relax and involve myself in music. Being in music is all I really ever want. And on these select nights, my dreams do come true.
[To think that my face goosebumps could be also called face goosepimples. I cannot.]
Tag: Hill Auditorium
Not that kind of Queen . . .
I be on my suit and tie. Benjamin in hand. Nails painted. This is what I call dressed to the nines. In fact I’m the nines: a cat. Manx? Marx.
I get to my $14 dollar seat and the aisle is worth the price, let me tell you. I get to stretch my feet, bend my legs broken doll style, and stare up and the ceiling that will probably astound me for years to come. What if a lightbulb burns out? A ladder from the balcony does not seem practical. A cherry picker? At Hill?
?
The Oresteia is a trilogy by Aeschylus. Good plays. Amazing plays. Or so my freshman year self said to myself as I bought the tickets and waited weeks filled with anticipation. Each day I had flashbacks to Great Books 191 at 9 am with all of the “honors freshman.†To 2 am nights at the Law Quad while I furiously read Greek tragedy after Greek tragedy–like Gilmore Girls episodes.
I take my seat and gawk at the stage as it filled up with 400+ musicians. Orchestras, choirs, opera stars, conductors all pile onto the wooden floor and I think, “of course Hill Auditorium would break on its 100 year anniversary.†Alas, it proves me wrong. Similar to the audience of which I am a part. I think that I am the only person under 50 in the whole room. Magic. This is my type of crowd, that is, until people weeble and wobble on the stairs and I imagine person after person accidentally flinging themselves off the balcony and onto the main floor: performance art. I mean, I am performing so why wouldn’t others?
The downbeat slashes and strings go flying, lips go buzzing, throats go vibrato-ing, and I am hit head-on with French at its finest: rolled r’s. Catching glimpses of words and hearing the words projected onto the screen I am thrown into the environment every white gay male could dream of: the opera. I mean if I am to be a true queen then this should be my element. My niche. My passion.
What I love about the whole thing is that it is all a staged performance. Or rather trapped-to-the-stage. Everyone is stationary while the air is filled with movement. Easier to focus. The main singers wear outfits of sequins, blue satin, black tuxes, and they stand out of the crowd of students. My favorite part though is when this “avant-garde†opera goes spoken word and the, perhaps, oracle figure starts rapping and screaming in French about blood, and flesh, and murder, and hatred, and gods. Who doesn’t like Greek Tragedy?
*raises hand*
Let me explain: the man behind me erupts during the intermission: “Opera. Is like eggs. Today they’re scrambled. Some like them scrambled. Others like them fried. I like them sunny side up.â€
I love Greek Tragedy. Give me a play and I’ll swoon. Give me a book and I’ll faint. Give me a 3.5 hour opera and my knee will start to ache and my eyes will start to get tired and my ears will start to close the world out. There is only so many times I can hear “Praise Athena†before I think about that beautiful ceiling. Or the Benjamin in my bag.
Would I have given this experience up? Hell no! This is probably one of my favorite events I have gone to because not only did I get to listen (and critique) amazing music, see talented individuals, people watch, gaze at architecture, but I was able to feel a part of an audience that I’ve always wanted to.
However.
Today I confess, sadly, that I am not an opera queen. I thought I was a renaissance queen but perhaps I’m just medieval.
