An Orchestra Made Happy

Last week's New Yorker contains a review of the St. Louis Symphony. I'm hardly a regular symphony-goer myself; I can't remember the last time I saw live music without a dance performance. But the article made me reconsider. Alex Ross notes,

The mere survival of this orchestra is something of a miracle. A hundred years ago, St. Louis was the fourth-largest city in America—a Gilded Age metropolis with architectural wonders to match. Now it is ranked fifty-second, and its population is smaller than it was in 1880, when the orchestra was founded. The usual urban ills have scoured the landscape. Powell Hall [the orchestra's home] stands on the edge of the old downtown; the north side of St. Louis, containing some of the poorest African-American neighborhoods in the country, lies across the street. A few blocks to the northeast is the land once occupied by the Pruitt-Igoe housing project, a notorious disaster in the history of urban planning.

The author goes on to ask, "What is the function of a symphony orchestra in such a world?" David Robertson, the conductor, reaches out to school children to help them enjoy classical music. Evidently a recent performance for New Yorkers went quite well; the article concludes, "The St. Louis Symphony sounds like an orchestra made happy, and it is a mighty thing to hear."

I was glad to see a St. Louis institution getting such a positive review from a national magazine. The article made me reflect on my new city, and realize again how removed I am from much of the poverty several miles to my northeast.

I've also been fairly removed from the performing arts scene. The article made me wish I could see a concert, but between the cost of the tickets and the hassle of finding a baby sitter, I don't know how that would happen. Before Ben was born, we splurged and bought nosebleed season tickets to the ballet. (It turned out to have been a poor choice; I became pregnant soon after, and I was miserable by the end of a late evening. We also had to miss Swan Lake when Ben came three weeks early.) I hope we'll be able to do something like that again some day--if we're lucky, before we're eligible for Senior Rush tickets at age 65.