The music was exquisite. It echoes yet today. The plaintive strings, delicate piano, rousing percussion; the masterful dynamism of loud, soft, silence, and noise. Antonin Dvorak's Romance for Violin and Orchestra brought swirls of cadence, rich layered melodies, and Konig's mesmerizing energy embodying every nuance of the music; now loud and powerful, now quiet, impossibly soft. His hands and body became the very notes and kept the orchestra perfectly one.
As I sat in Arlene's ornate hall, memories flooded my mind.
In college I heard the Oregon Symphony a number of times under James DePriest. His charisma filled the hall as amply as the music filled the air. In the 90s we waited outside for a glimpse of Bob Dylan before his concert's start. He jumped off the tour bus dressed like a roadie, a hoodie pulled over his head, and disappeared into a back door before anyone recognized him. Several years later Hubby and I rocked and swayed to The Cure's loud luscious beat. I was pregnant, Baby Son kicking to Fascination Street in my womb. One year we got tickets to the Symphony's Christmas Concert and I gave away a pair to one of my teachers as a prize. I remember waving to her and her husband seated about fifteen seats behind and above us. Son was younger then and he called the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall "that place with a cantaloupe skin ceiling". Its embossed pattern looks just like a melon rind. One year I took young Son to a kids' Symphony concert on a Saturday afternoon. The naughtiness and noise horrified me. Kids, yes. But what were the parents thinking not to teach them better manners? We were at the Schnitz, in an upper balcony, enjoying 1964, a Beatle's Tribute band when I got the call that Beaverton School District wished to offer me a position as principal. In 2012 we were at a Morrissey concert at the Schnitz when Son called to say Nephew was having a seizure. We raced out of the earsplitting noise and hailed a cab on Broadway, flying fast to get home. For Mothers' Day in 2013 we saw Bill Cosby. (Before his recent shaming.) He sat onstage in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, drinking from a cup of water on a side table beside him. The Cos was hilarious - Nephew and Son loved him. In February 2014 we picked our way gingerly through sidewalks iced with snow to hear the Oregon Symphony play Beethoven's 7th. Its strains serenaded my thoughts for weeks.
Yes, the good old Schnitz.... the rococo lobby with endless intermission lines and pale pink frescoed walls. Its wool carpet, elegant bubblers, and stylish eccentrics. It is to us the music that is Portland.
