Snippets | Music, Inside

We shuffle in. The theatre is a room, a canvas of shadows and hushes. The musician is perched atop a chair in the middle. There are cushions strewn about in circles around him. Round and round it goes up to the stage which now functions as a long bench; the foot high climb perfect for sitting. I find a spot at the far end of the stage behind the line of seated people and lean against the wall, trying to find a place to snuggle into in the quiet dark.

Eventually, the room settles down and a calm, anticipatory silence fills it up. You can hear gasps, tip-toes, the slight involuntary shifting of the body, even smiles of the forty or so people huddled around the musician in the middle.

He begins to drain the room of the silence, his hands slipping across the fretboard. And then he sings. His voice summons artifacts from the other side, euphonious pieces of heaven that caress one’s soul. And then he does it. He goes up an octave. I feel a momentary chill, a tingling of the heart, as the lyrical, mystical, magical vibrations greet my corporeal being.

Everyone is in trance. The trees outside, peeking in from the long windows, seem to sway along. It feels like this room is the world; there is nothing outside. Or, the world outside has ended. All that’s left is the world inside. And that’s alright. Everything is alright.

After four songs, he moves to the piano.

His hands — dancing across the piano mountains — are rivers from whence flows this melody of life satiating this pure thirst I didn’t know I had. It’s a warm hug for the soul.

“Last song”, he says, almost in a whisper. “Do you want a sad song or a less sad one?”

We chuckle.

“The sad song”, everyone assents. He smiles and plays a sad song.

“What is music for?” I say to myself, “what is it for?”, as I feel something in me stirring. It’s something lodged deep inside and it’s responding to the vibrations of the air. I notice a strange feeling emerge — of hearing whilst also being listened to. I almost cry.