Last night we went out to a nice dinner at Peppercorns Grill in Hartford. The food is good and better yet, it's only a small distance to the Bushnell, where the Hartford Symphony (and now defunct Hartford Opera) performs. It's a beautiful place, and I especially love the Chihuly chandelier inside.
Last night we went to see the Verdi Requiem. OK, it wasn't cheery. In fact, I cried through a lot of it. You see, I don't listen to music. I EXPERIENCE IT. I feel it inside, for better (joyful) or worse (terrifying and sad). It's a way of life for me. It's not just notes. The performance has to be a work of art itself for me to get there. Otherwise, I just think of notes.
But last night, they did it. The soloists were solid, the Hartford Chorale was wonderful, and the Hartford Symphony was the best I have heard them in a long time. It worked for me.
This ability to absorb emotion from the music in it's entirety, is probably because I'm gay, which led me to be completely lonely as a teenager in Emmett, Idaho, without anyone to talk to. How could they understand? I lived in my own world. What was that world like? During the week, damn lonely. I was an outsider. I thought often that I was the only gay person on earth. And I knew, from listening to all the gay jokes from my friends, that gay was a bad thing to be. Therefore, I was bad.
But there's one thing I had that no one else knew about. Every Saturday afternoon, I would sneak off to what I called "the dam park". Today, it has a name, although I forget what it is. It was this small park not far from where I lived, with a power station and a waterfall in the background, away from the park. I would take a blanket, smuggle off a bottle of wine, cheese, and perhaps other goodies, along with my radio, and would tune into "Live from the Met"! This is where I developed a love for opera. I used to listen to Maria Callas (live) and many others, such as Renata Tebaldi. Think of that. Of course, I didn't love opera. It was an escape from my extremely intolerant world. But I grew to love opera.
Hardly no one went to that park, so it was a perfect place to be with friends that I'd never meet, that had given me so much from this far off place called Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York City. In little Emmett, Idaho, it might as well have been on Venus. Later in life, I would walk up the steps of Lincoln Center and see an opera at the Met, where so many legends had walked.
So as I'm listening to opera, with all the force of running water from the spillway off in the distance, you can imagine how my mind would go wild with imagery as I listened to Wagner's Siegfried from Der Ring des Nibelungen (also known as "The Ring Cycle"), as Siegfried wins the Ring, but is eventually betrayed and slain. The great Valkyrie Brünnhilde (Siegfried's lover), returns the Ring to the Rhine. The water rushes in the background and I stand up from my blanket, draw my imaginary sword and prepare for battle! In the process, Valkyrie Brünnhilde and I destroyed the Gods!
The last time I went back to Emmett a couple of years ago, I went to that spot that I always went to, under this tree to listen to The Met. It's larger now, and I was pleased to see it still there. I walked up to it, touched it, and said, "Hello, my old friend. You and I have traveled some distance." I'm so sentimental.
Yes. That's me. So maybe you can understand that the Requiem last night was a somber experience for me. I haven't listened to it for years, and yet, I never forget anything. It came flooding back to me, and I was quite simply in tears for much of it. How wonderful is that? How lucky am I that I feel what Verdi must have felt when he applied pen to paper to create this Requiem?
I don't know if this is because I am what I am. Some people don't like what I am. But I've come to a place of peace and reconciliation in my life. I want what others have. I want equality. I want the world that I live in to find balance. And that can only happen if the group that I seem to belong to ceases to become a group, and starts to become ONE, with other fellow citizens. In a large sense, that's up to them. I'm not going anywhere.