Project 52, Week 2: Silence is Golden

With the celebration of Dr. King’s birthday tomorrow, I want to stress how important it is for us all to accept one another for who we are; black, white, yellow, paranoid, anxiety ridden or hairy, acceptance is the key. It is this key that has unlocked the door to the happiness my husband and I share. I accept that he is a hoarder and he accepts that I have obsessive compulsive tendencies. I accept that he burns his hand on a pan every time he cooks because he refuses to use an oven mitt and he accepts that I tend to hit my head on something at least once a month (what?! I have depth perception issues!).

My hubby and I also accept our vast differences in music. While he enjoys classical music in which he can decipher chord changes and the different instruments being played, I enjoy classic 80s and 90s in which I can recite most words, to the horror of my other half. So when he asked me to start going with him to the New York Philharmonic to hear the symphony orchestra, I was apprehensive. It seemed so stuffy and proper to me. But with marriage there is compromise. I decided if I was subjected to 2-3 hours of Bach or Stravinsky every few months, then I would be able to “Rock the Cazbah” and shout George Michael’s “Freedom” when I drove the 8 hour trips to his motherland (right….I also accept that he does not have a driver’s license…don’t get me started!).

On Tuesday evening we head to Avery Fischer Hall to hear Mahler’s 9th symphony. Of course I had no idea who Gustav Mahler was before meeting my husband. We have gone to hear his work a few times now and let’s just say the music is not exactly easy listening. The last concert we heard before this one was called Kindertotenlieder, aka “Songs on the Death of Children.” Very uplifting. Perhaps I should have had a coffee before entering the land of the blue-haired ladies.

The estimated duration of the piece was 79 minutes, so I knew I was going to have to use all of my stay-awake tactics; pinching myself, pretending there were toothpicks in my eyes, looking around at the appalling outfits people were wearing (and believe me, there are many!), etc. In between each movement, people do not clap, since they are told to save their applause until the end. But there is usually a short pause between movements. During this brief pause, it seems as though everyone in the hall coughs or sneezes.  My husband likes to call the mezzanine level “the sea of tuberculosis”.

During the last movement I realized the people around me had their eyes closed. This was not because they were sleeping, but because that is how people who attend the Philharmonic listen to the music; with their eyes closed and a goofy grin on their face. I had nothing better to do so I tried it too. Maybe I would learn to appreciate the music more that way. Except that’s not what happened. Instead, I started to fall asleep. Anyone who knows me is not shocked by that last statement. I’m what you might call a good sleeper. I fall asleep at most movies. I’ve fallen asleep every time I’ve ever been to a planetarium. I’ve fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. I’m not narcoleptic. I just truly believe I need more sleep than the average person.

But in the midst of my symphonic nap, I heard an instrument I did not recognize. In fact it was not an instrument at all. It was a cell phone! The horror! My eyes shot open. I immediately started looking for the person who had the brass ones to have their phone on at the symphony when Alec Baldwin’s voice specifically asked us to turn them off at the beginning of the performance.  Then reached for my phone to make sure it wasn’t me. Phew….it wasn’t. I thought eventually the ringing would stop, but it just kept going. As the piece grew quieter, the iPhone’s Marimba ring got louder.

Then something historical happened. The music stopped. Allan Gilbert, the first native New Yorker to be conductor of the Philharmonic, turned around and faced the audience. He directed his comment to the first row and asked whoever had the ringing cell phone to turn it off. No one moved. The tension in the room was palpable as the ringer went off once again. He stared at the front row and in the tone of a 3rd grade teacher said, “We’ll wait”. Then the shouts from the audience began:

“SHUT THE DAMN PHONE OFF!”

“WHAT THE HELL?! I PAID GOOD MONEY FOR THESE TICKETS!”

“GET OUT!”

The conductor apologized to the audience and said, “Usually when something like this happens, we just go on. But this was so egregious I just had to stop.” Nice job showing off his Harvard vocabulary. The phone was finally shut off and Gilbert said, “Let’s try this again” and the audience roared. At the very end of the piece, which I surprisingly enjoyed more than any other piece we have listened to (probably because my adrenaline was pumping after the major controversy), it is etiquette to wait until the conductor’s arms  go down before applauding. Gilbert held his arms up for a long while. I was afraid to even breathe in fear he would turn around and reprimand me. He finally lowered his arms, turned around, grinned and nodded to the culprit in the front row,  implying a message of “Don’t f**k with me, Grandpa!”

It was the talk of the whole hall afterward, which of course upset my husband greatly. “We just heard an incredible piece of music played by some of the greatest musicians in the world and all people are talking about is the cell phone!”

He needs to accept that the average age of an attendee of the Philharmonic is probably 80 and they probably don’t even know how to use the gadget that caused the uproar. Nonetheless, the lesson learned here is: always listen to Alec Baldwin.