Description

Here is a descriptive essay I wrote awhile ago for English class, and "rediscovered" while looking through my document files. Youth orchestra is one of my favorite things. I hope you enjoy it!


Performance Night

As I walk into the room, a wave of noise and excitement rushes out the door. It is twenty minutes before performance, and everyone is on edge. The first sound I hear is one that is familiar to every musician: tuning instruments. The strange, inexplicable noise that is almost dissonant, yet is rather melodic. It fills the room, rising into the rafters and floating out the door. Under it I can hear difficult passages being rehearsed, as everyone crams in a final moment of practice. Basses are rumbling, trumpets are blaring, flutes are twittering, drums are rolling, and violins are singing. I hear the slap of cases opening and being shoved against the wall, the scrape of a music stand across the floor. As I pass small knots of people, I overhear snatches of conversation: “Are you sure you won’t forget about the grace note,” “I have to go swab it out,” “Mike said he would do it,” “I really hope my string doesn’t break,” “Measure 36, measure 36” and so much more nervous chatter. Feet cross the floor; high heels tapping, dress shoes squeaking.

The first thing I see as I walk through the door is the shining silver and brass of the wind and brass sections. Trombones and piccolos gleam as their owners turn them in the light, anxiously inspecting for any speck of spit. Everything seems especially polished tonight, for the performance. Black and white concert dress surges around the room, gathering in knots and standing alone. Skirts swirl around ankles, and bow-ties swing crookedly below stiff collars. Instrument cases line every wall, violins next to basses, basses next to French horns, French horns next to harps. The chairs are a mess: pushed every which way in the haste of the evening.

The room suddenly quiets as performance time arrives. Lines form quickly, then march out into the theater. A small murmuring from the audience is silenced as we enter. Several small, red dots begin to blink in the dimness beyond the circle of light on the stage. Chairs skid across the stage as everyone is seated. I hear an occasional scrape when a music stand is adjusted, an accidental throb of strings. Feet shuffle nervously on the smooth floor, and there are a few stifled coughs over in the wind section. Then the black and white concert dress are in orderly rows, sitting still and expectant.

Presently the concertmaster walks out onto the stage, bows to polite applause, and proceeds to tune the orchestra. A moment of sound rises into the theater, then stills. The concertmaster sits down, and the entire orchestra waits expectantly. Then the conductor appears, strolling down the stage and beaming. The orchestra rises, standing stiff with pride, as a storm of applause greets the arrival. He bows, turns to the concertmaster and shakes hands, then steps onto his platform and opens the score. The orchestra sits hurriedly. A baton rises in the air; excitement rises until you can feel it. Bows quiver, horns glint, fingers are poised, breath is held. The baton falls, and sound surges into the air.