“Why Classical Music is Fun and Passionate: A Concert Experience”

“Concert? What a concert, the Kissás won’t be coming until June.” Come on. For Christmas, his potato salad-numbed mind promises me the Philharmonic too. A concert, of course, but add mayonnaise. Half a year later, he is already making excuses that classical music is too serious for him, so go with someone else. So I go and wonder why people call classical music serious when it’s so much fun in the hall.

Music arouses all kinds of passions. In men, definitely for the universe, judging by the tilted heads and open mouths. But they shouldn’t be so snoring about it. For women, treble clef opens the heart, and what’s more, because the lady next to me moans so genuinely that I’m afraid she’ll throw her bra at the soloist. I imagine how, caught on a string, it flutters to the rhythm of Humoreska, the clothes hooks just clicking. And that there are, because the lady is as strong as a timpani in an orchestra. Doesn’t the gentleman in the tailcoat get bored when he hits the instrument three times during a concert? And does he have the same salary as a violist who doesn’t snort for a moment?

Music makes me question. Lots of questions. About how long is the horn when untangled? Does the harpist have a contract for handling heavy loads? And what would happen if I squeezed lemon juice in front of the guys blowing brass? I’m just writing this, the mucous membrane in my mouth is already tightening that I wouldn’t even blow into a bubblegum. Let alone a bombardment.

“Well done!” the lady next to me exclaims as I startle. She didn’t even wait for the period after the sentence… She didn’t take off her bra, but otherwise her applause is no different from the performance of Michal David’s fans. It would be age appropriate. Perhaps the lady also remembered the Disco story, because she jumps with her hands above her head until she pulls other listeners to cheers. The crowd roars and stomps, all that’s missing are the cries of “Baňyk, p..o!” Nothing against a standing ovation, but today perhaps even the ushers who straighten the music desks on the stage are standing up. What will we do when the real masters come? Shall we hang ourselves from the chandelier? I defy the idea with a seated applause, and through the gap between the backgrounds of the couple in front of me I catch a glimpse of the conductor receiving the bouquet. She looks almost bridal and I can already see her throwing it behind her and waiting to see which of the philharmonics will catch her. So in a year you will be conducting, Mr. Colleague!

Well, please, and then the classics are boring.