Beethoven in Buenos Aires

This post was written by Nyela Basney, and posted on August 15, 2008 | Filed Under music | Double-click any word for more info | View other posts by Nyela Basney | | For info on this author, visit http://www.orvietomusica.org

It was the audience that made this performance remarkable.

I attended a performance of Beethoven’s 9th symphony this evening, presented by the Symphonic Orchestra of Buenos Aires and the National Polyphonic Chorale, at the Facultad de Derecho (University of Rights) in central Buenos Aires. I learned of the performance from a 1-inch ad in today’s La Nacion. The admission was free. (I was unable to pick up a program at the end of the concert and so cannot list the name of the conductor or soloists.)

I arrived at the Facultad de Derecho by cab at 7:40 for the 8:00 performance. The cab dropped me off at the side door to the University building and I entered a maze of hallways covered with huge, handwritten signs: “Crisis in the Proletariat”, “Down with All Laws” and filled with students milling about. I walked upstairs and found myself in a polished lobby featuring over-sized Greek statuary and two concentric circles of about 400 people, double file, waiting to enter the auditorium. I joined the queue, suddenly concerned that I might not make it into the auditorium. The line moved quickly, though, and within ten minutes I was within sight of the one door opening into the performance space. There were another 400 people still behind me in line.

As I approached the door the ushers opened all of the entrances into the auditorium at once and the 400 people behind me pushed laterally into the concert hall. It was chaotic, as all of the seats in the auditorium were already filled and I sought to assess the situation and make a quick decision as to where to go. The front aisle was closed since the stage abutted up against the front seats. The back aisle was clogged with people sitting on the floor. I crawled across people’s feet and winter coats in an effort to reach the side of the auditorium. All three empty seats I had seen and sought out turned out to be “reserved” for family members. I pushed out again into the hallway and ran up the stairs to the balcony only to find all of the seats and aisles there filled as well. I managed to push into the auditorium, however, and stood, facing in the direction of the stage.

As people “settled in” I gradually was able to find a 10-inch space at the bannister overlooking the stage where I could stand sideways and look over my right shoulder at the orchestra. I considered how long the concert would seem to my feet since I’d already spent 5 hours before the concert walking the streets of Buenos Aires as a tourist. I decided to stay, however, thinking that, as might happen in the United States, after about 20 minutes of the concert, some of the audience might leave and there would be room to sit. (It turned out I was mistaken).

Eventually I had enough room at the bannister to hop up and sit down. It was a precarious perch, as the crowd in front of me moved in to take over the floor space I had vacated. Should I lose my balance backwards, it was a 5 1/2 foot drop to people sitting on the stairs below. Fifteen minutes into the first movement my left leg fell asleep. I considered the wisdom of sitting for an hour and a half with a leg asleep and decided that the concert might end with my having a blood clot. I bumped 5 people as I stepped down again off of the bannister.

The orchestra gave what was, in many ways, an unremarkable performance.

But it was the audience that made this performance remarkable.

Midway through the first movement, I turned my head away from the stage to rest my shoulders and neck. I looked straight ahead of me out into the stairwell. People were standing as far as I could see into the blackness of the wings, facing a stage they could not see, some of them with their eyes closed, listening attentively and with intention, rapt in the music. I turned back toward the rest of the balcony. 50% of the audience was between the ages of 15 and 30. 9- and 10-year olds (and 70- and 80-year olds alike) stood at the bannisters overlooking the orchestra.

No one was “dressed for the occasion.” All were dressed in everyday clothes, women in velveteen pant suits, men in sports coats with no ties, teenagers in jeans and sweatshirts, many in work clothes. They stood, holding their winter coats and scarves or sat in the aisles and on the stairs, jackets in their arms — a 5-year old, dressed in a blue nylon jacket and white tennis shoes was perched, stage right, on a covered 9-foot piano pushed to the side of the stage, her back (and pigtails) to the audience. (Only in the fourth movement, when she became restless, did her grandfather stand her on the stage. She faced the audience and, silently, danced to “Freude, Freude”.)

The orchestra played as a good, regional professional orchestra in the United States would. Their conductor, in his 70’s, guided, rather than commanded, them (although he conducted the work, accurately, from memory.) The tempi were unremarkable, the interpretive decisions “middle-of-the-road”. (There were even a couple of distressing moments in the scherzo when the ensemble was doubtful.) The slow movement was straightforward and direct, not artful or even overly expressive. Even the last movement seemed craftsmanlike and sincere, not enthusiastic or driven. (The Chorale was very fine indeed — 70 voices — strong, disciplined and comfortable with the score.)

But it was the audience that made this performance remarkable.

This was a knowledgeable working class audience. This was the audience Beethoven would have intended the symphony for. Crowded in a university lecture hall (probably 1100 people in a space which would legally seat 750), heavy with old drapes, wooden seats with old upholstery, over-varnished bannisters and floors — a fire trap with two small exits on stage. A multi-generational audience of common people, drawn to the common experience of a live performance, come straight from work on a Friday evening — quiet, disciplined, intent.

As the performance ended I was caught off guard by the emotion — a roar of humanity, shouting bravo and applauding for a 4-minute ovation. I was surprised to find tears in my eyes and on my face. This was not the slightly patronizing ovation of a “family” audience applauding their well-meaning neighbors — this was the ovation of an audience moved by the straightforward, workmanly performance of a masterpiece — and audience that shared the emotions of the masterpiece and valued its art form. This was an audience that was, unintentionally, passing its appreciation on to the next generation — an audience where class was not the distinguishing factor and where there was no artificiality. It was the audience that made this performance remarkable.

Beethoven spoke directly to their hearts.