Why listen to music?

GENEVA, Switzerland–The master conductor explained to the audience that the orchestra would play the tale of a mountaineer scaling the heights of the Matterhorn. He also promised that they would hear the various sounds of nature, from the fury of a merciless storm to the calm of a clearing sky. "That’s interesting," I said. I sat up to listen.

The quiver of the little brass instrument signaled the first, clear drop of rain. The cymbals came next, ascending to a peak of tremors before the rolling boom of the drums signaled the escalating rage of the storm.

Instinctively I looked up, expecting heavy rain to drench me while my foot was slowly slipping down the edge of the slick mountain. When I looked around, the rest of the audience felt the same way. How lucky we were not to be caught on the mountain or worse, be the mountaineer.

Musical instruments have such a magnificent diversity of sounds that have the capacity to move, engulf and inspire the listener in a way nothing else can.

The room comes to life as we heed the bittersweet cry of the violin, the wistful lament of the cello, the playful agility of the flute, the melodious, enrapturing fluidity of the harp, the fiery, thunderous and intimidating roll of the timpani drums and the crisp, blithe tinkling of the piano. Individually or collectively, the orchestra tells a story, from start to finish, simple or intricate.

The sound that these instruments produce can be haunting and beautiful. It can make my heart swell and there emerges a feeling so grand that can only be equaled by listening to more.

It was not always like this. There was a time when I chose the ballet over other musical instruments. When my sister enrolled me at the ballet school of Anita Kane, I was overjoyed but my mother opposed it and got me into piano instead.

Unable to rebel, I turned my wrath on the piano teacher. She was tough and mean. She would slap my hands with a plastic ruler every time I lowered my wrists from the required height and distance. I endured nine years of the mandatory piano exercises, Hanon and Czerny, with recital pieces that completely dashed my hopes of ever dancing a pas de deux.

When I turned 14, my mother gifted me with my own baby grand. It depressed me even more. At 16, acquiring a bit more bravado, I announced that I was quitting. I’d had enough of the piano. In a brazen attempt to show defiance, I erased anything pertaining to the piano, every memory – notes, compositions and classical pieces – the whole ensemble.

I broke my mother’s heart. Disappointed and crushed, she turned to me and said, "Someday, you will regret it."

Her words rang true.

Music was indeed an essential part of my life. Some compositions were so rich and melodious that they could move me to tears. That’s when I would sit up and wish I knew how to play them. Sadly, I could not read or play a single note anymore. It was my karma for having defied one of the finest musical instruments.

When I hear music played by accomplished musicians (particularly concert pianists), a voice within me echoes through my head: "I told you so, I told you so." Such is regret. Mother long wanted to tell me that music could make my heart take wing.

I know that now. Can you imagine the supreme pleasure that envelops those who can actually play an instrument?

Wiser and older, I’m trying to make up for the impetuousness of my youth. I listen to the masters play their works of genius, their magnum opuses. They make it possible for me to catch a piece of heaven. Think how much more spectacular it must be for those who are in the presence of the Giver, the Maker and the Source of music.

For now, I am happy to fill my world with music – in all its joy, tenderness, poignancy, triumph and magnificence.

Mother was right. It’s the only way to fly.

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From the Dictionary of Quotations:

Music, the greatest good that mortals know. And all heaven we have below. – Joseph Addison, Song for St. Cecilia’s Day

And the night shall be filled with music

And the cares, that infest the day, shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. – Longfellow, The Day is Done

Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music do not cease Reject me not into the world again.

With you alone is excellence and peace, Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain. – Edna St. Vincent Millay, On Hearing a Symphony of Beethoven

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils. – Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. – Wordsworth, The Solitary Reaper

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Concert halls are the perfect venue to catch some of the best symphony orchestras in their full element. Please consider other patrons when you attend concerts and be aware of unbecoming behavior which can upset the enjoyment of others.

• Turn off watch alarms and mobile phones;

• Muffle your cough with a handkerchief or carry cough lozenges;

• Refrain from opening plastic-wrapped sweets during the concert;

• If you cannot avoid being contacted, leave your pager and seat number with an usher and they will deliver any messages during a break in the performance;

• No photographs, recording devices or video cameras are permitted during performances;

• At most classical concerts, it is not considered appropriate to applaud between the movements of a piece; wait until the conclusion to do so;

• The auditorium doors are closed once each performance has commenced. Latecomers are not admitted until a suitable break in the performance.