Going to a classic concert of any kind, including music and other concerts of classical nature such as films, gives an experience that is very different from the one a person gets he/she goes to funky concerts or common music including country, rock, hip-hop among others. While several people among the audience are originally timid and hypnotized, they are transfixed and spellbound by the official ecumenical setting of the classic concert. This includes the most direct and simple rules that guide etiquette for such events once one becomes accustomed to them. The feeling of being in attendance at a classic concert oscillate between enjoyment or pure pleasure and disappointment or letdown, depending on an individual perspective and experience. This treatise thus discusses the feeling I have as a person toward classic concert by explicating the experiences I had at my first concert.
First and foremost, I had not planned to go out clubbing immediately after my final paper of my fresher year. I had put everything in check and proper sequence for the night as I just wanted to relax at home and reflect on the semester that has been. I, therefore, escorted Jake my friend to his place and came back to wallow in my small world of meditation. No sooner had I reached my abode and closed the door than Clare, my sanguine friend came requesting that we go to the school graduation arena to watch a classic concert. You see, all along, I had no idea that the college was going host some concert for students as a season ender that evening. Nonetheless, as persuasive as Clare was, I had a change of plan, and we set out for the graduation square.
I thus forfeited my innocence and classic concert naivety that night at the graduation arena of the college, with Clare, the chief instigator. The concert was Hough’s yarn by with the Bloomy-Bloomy Orchestra, performed by Donovan. To say that I am still spinning will be an understatement. The moment Hough began playing, you could tell the astonishment inside me. I was fascinated, beguiled and entranced. Clare, in her melodious state, told me that Hough was more adventurous with the piece of a song than other artists. He, therefore, played it at a more accelerated pace than it should be. This was evident in the way his hands were a pallid whizzing blur. I watched his fingers crash down in fanciful positions around the keys and was gobsmacked. How was I going to miss such a concert?
It is embarrassing to think that people can grow up listening to music of classical nature. It is even more awkward to think that people learn lots of instruments and expend a sizable collocate of time in consort, to be less of a lowbrow. This attitude was debunked and unmasked as I realized why people preferred classic concerts to gigs and festivals. With all honesty, Clare made me have an epiphany. The insane talent on display, the technical know-how, the embellished sound wall, all corroborated by the wizardry of the performer, was exclusively on a higher level compared to the rap and other concerts I have ever been to over the course of my youthful life. I was filled with a deeper form of elation, a feeling of throbbing and extraordinary satisfaction. That is how I feel about a classic concert. That is how it will remain for ages.