If you’ve ever sat right behind the dugout at a baseball game, chances are you’ve seen or heard the team members banter with each other. Athletic feats notwithstanding, their foibles are fodder for off-color and inside jokes, lighthearted teasing, and reminders that these prodigies are, after all, mere mortals.
I’ve known this group of cellists for many years from my perch as a groupie, colleague, and camp follower. The older generation has celebrated with me as my children were born, and the younger have babysat them. I’ve watched them in awe as they performed works of inspiring technical and spiritual genius, and in amusement as they’ve deadpanned after other performances, “Let’s just leave quietly as if nothing happened.”
I hope that you too can sense the magic that occurs when good friends and colleagues come together to play works they love, and I certainly hope the poetic and majestic strains of the music ring in your ears for many days to come. But if you are like me and enjoy seeing and hearing the “back story,” watch these musicians as they communicate with each other while they play. You won’t hear anyone shout, “Do you hug your mother with that bow arm?” but you will see unspoken communication and gestures of love, respect and fun. That undercurrent is the basis of Rush Hour concert events and I’m pleased to give you the insider tip that it is impossible to manufacture—it’s either there, or it’s not.
Tonight, it’s there.
– Megan Balderston