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It's sort of a shock to suddenly find delight in these dreadful times, the grim news of war and destruction, the apprehension of worse things to come, but New York has many available wonders and one was a chamber music concert at Lincoln Center Sunday, solo violin pieces, six young players, all phenomenally gifted. I'm married to a violinist who could distinguish the voice of the Amati from the Guarneri, but even for me, the old fundamentalist, wow, what a show.
There was a dizzying bravado Richard Strauss sonata and a dozen or so little pieces, some sweet melodic things and a series of showstoppers, fantastic technique, big swoops and flourishes and fast chops and perfect elegant finishes that made the audience whoop and yell, and then two Fritz Kreisler pieces for string octet, so utterly sentimental it was amazing to hear them played in this day and age but they were done perfectly, with the air of old Vienna and ladies and gents swaying at the ball, champagne and apple strudel in the air. And what, I ask you, is the matter with sentimentality? Especially when sitting elbow to elbow with the woman you love.
We leaped up to give them a heartfelt standing O and they came back for three bows and what I took away from the evening is this: it's tremendous fun to be really really good at something. The players, who were fantastic, nailed every note, had a blast. We loved watching them taking full pleasure in their excellence.
I walked out of the hall, enraptured. Me. An utter ignoramus when it comes to violin. I come from hymn singers, and with hymns you don't need a violinist showing you how talented she is. We do not come before the Lord to show off, we come in repentance for our multitude of sins. There was no sign of repentance at Lincoln Center Sunday night. But ignorant as I am and continue to be, I loved every minute of the concert. Adored the whole thing. Astonishing to find delight in strange territory.
We walked up Broadway for a few blocks, a warm March evening, the prospect of spring in the air. This is the Upper West Side of Manhattan, solidly Democratic, Republicans are rare as hummingbirds. If a Democrat cocker spaniel ran against a Republican for Congress, the dog would win, paws down. But Democrats are in need of joy, if you ask me. The ones I know are forever wringing their hands about something they just read a book about, declining literacy of teenagers, income inequality, job loss due to AI, pollution by plastic particles in the ocean causing dementia among humpbacks.
Joy is a necessity, especially in dark times. Fritz Kreisler, who wrote beautiful sentimental pieces for violin, also served in the trenches in World War I, a horrible war fought for the pleasure of aristocracy, costing millions of lives, accomplishing nothing except to lay the groundwork for World War II, and there we sat Sunday night feasting on his music. He'd seen death and destruction and he chose to write about elegance and the good life.
Big cities have been hit hard by economic change. The downtowns of my childhood are hollowed out, the big department stores I loved as a kid are only a memory. But cities are still home to the fine arts, and the fine arts — as I found Sunday — are for everyone; we ignorant peasants can be stunned, maybe even more than the cognoscenti who could be troubled by the tiny slip in the B-sharp gliss in the 87th bar of the Rimsky-Korsakov. I'm an old plow horse of a writer but I can go to the Frick and be moved by the paintings, unaware that the man standing next to me did his doctoral thesis on Hans Holbein's portrait of Sir Thomas More. Stand in front of the picture for five minutes, it has something to give you, you don't need a certificate on the wall.
New York is still a Midway of wonders, even for a Minnesotan like me. Google is a wonderful invention, like the telescope, but you still need to be in the midst of humanity to experience life. Sunday night was a miracle. But you had to be there in the midst of the audience to fully realize it. There were plenty of violinists in the seats, but we plow horses were delighted too. And then went home.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.