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Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A hush falls over the crowd, as the conductor takes his place on the podium. The tiny beads of sweat on his brow are only partly due to the hot lights focused on him from the unseen balcony. They join together into a single line down his cheek as he opens the score and takes up his baton, the eager crowd staring fixedly on his perfectly tailored tailcoat. They see the ripple of the cloth as he raises his arm, and with the most seemingly insignificant motion, he gestures to the orchestra, and the tension in the room becomes palpable. It only takes a few moments for the first long, solitary note of the viola to distinguish itself from the hum of the lights and the hushed whispers of the audience, but as soon as it does, another motion from the conductor, delivered with much more bravado than the one preceding it, breaks the tension and beautiful music bursts forth. With his arms he creates waves of melodies cascading over exciting counter-melodies, and with the frenetic bouncing of his knees he creates the deep undercurrent of the basses and bassoons which holds the piece together, and just when the audience is sure that he will pass out from exertion, he is suddenly motionless, as a new note rings out. This time it is a brash trumpeter who causes the sound, and while it is nothing like the subtle note that opened the piece, it is just as beautiful. It lasts only a moment though, and is replaced in turn by a series of notes that wrap themselves around the crowd like vines. He is quickly joined by the carefree flute, which dances through the air with laughter, and before the audience can fully grasp the idea, the room is almost literally alive with harmonies sweet as nectar. But the conductor cannot yet rest. There is one more trick up his sleeve, and so smooth is the next transition that it is almost fully formed before the quickest mind in the audience is even aware, and suddenly the conductor appears to be almost following his orchestra, but it is simply another trick, as the violins take up a sweet and slow aria, and some in the audience are moved to tears, while others are on the edge of their seats, so wrapped up in the sounds that they would later recall feeling as though they were the only one in the theater. Then, as subtly as it had begun, it is over. Several seconds of silence follow, as the conductor becomes a statue, arms posed just as they were before the unfolding of his fantasy. Then the illusion is broken as his arms fall to his sides. Every seat is immediately empty as the crowd rises and thunderous applause fills the room, bouncing from every wall and rising to deafening levels. It is only now that the conductor turns to the audience, takes a small bow, and gestures to his orchestra. He then makes his exit. The applause continues long after he has disappeared into the folds of the curtain at the edge of the stage.