The Montpelier Chamber Orchestra, of which Paul is a founder, was just getting started on the last night of their fall concerts. They were finishing the first movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 8, playing to a full house, when the fire alarms started. Almost metronomically the alarms buzzed as the orchestra gamely played on. Since performance lives by the mantra “the show must go on”, it did as did the buzzing.
Finally, our son, Joshua, leaned over to me and, sotto voce, said “ I think we should get out of here....” Apparently others felt the same way as there was palpable beginnings of stirrings. The orchestra finished the movement and it was decided that we would all head outside into the brisk November evening to wait out whatever we were waiting out. Musicians grabbed their cases to keep their instruments safe to the exclusion of their coats. Once outside we laughed and chatted for a few minutes and then, as time passed, we got more silent and began rubbing our hands together in the chilly 40F.
Firetrucks arrived to cheers, we were certain we would be back in our sweater-covered seats momentarily.
The concert space is housed in a beautiful, very old, college chapel. It's said to be haunted and I'm not sure there wasn't some of that in play that evening. Perhaps a mischievous music lover was watching out of the fourth story window, enjoying the chaos caused.
The concert was over before it began.
The MCO had just hired a new music director, Anne Decker. It was the first full concert of her new position: the very first night she had performed (or not) in the orchestra's home space. I felt slightly nauseous for her. I spotted her passing among the players and audience members as we stood outside. Laughing, cheerful and seemingly in control of the uncontrollable. She ended up standing on the edge of a granite fountain to make the impromptu announcement that the performance was canceled, how sorry she was and to say that she really did not have a solution, at this point.
However...a few days later orchestra members emails began to light up with her plan. She would like to know who would be available to perform a “pop up” concert for the city of Montpelier. One performance, one piece, the Beethoven.
On Tuesday evening, December 6 at 6:00 I walked into an vacated Main Street store just before the concert began. Members of the orchestra waved as I entered, some dressed in velvet tops and others in jeans and sneakers. Paul was bundled up in his winter coat and boots- fashion be damned. I picked a spot to stand and watched as audience members drifted in; couples holding hands, a daughter pushing her elderly mother in a wheelchair, a mom with a sleepy child slung over her shoulder. In an increasingly crowded space, everyone somehow found a place to light as Anne took the podium.
Once again she turned to face us, stick in hand, a smile on her face. She explained the situation and a bit about the piece. Her ponytail flipped as she spun to enthusiastically face the orchestra and off they went.
People tapped feet, babies bobbed in rhythm and the room filled with the orchestral sound.
It was then that the brilliance of this struck me. Before the music began you might have looked at the group of musicians and had no idea what kind of music they would be playing. Jacketed Paul might be a grunge band cellist for all you knew and that, exactly that, was part of the beauty of this performance because once they began even I, who knew what they were going to do, was surprised and completely delighted by the fact that it was classical music replacing the air in this empty building.
The orchestra and it's brand new, fearless leader, had given the city of Montpelier a wonderful gift at the perfect time of year.
It also gave the audience and the orchestra a real chance to see that Anne Decker had, indeed, come to play.