Ah, Music To Soothe The Savage Breast

Yesterday we went to the first chamber music concert of the symphony season.  The hall for these concerts is relatively small, certainly in comparison to the space in which the symphony orchestra plays in.  And ordinarily it is sold out; getting tickets to these performances is always a struggle, best done by subscription a year in advance.  To advance to a superior seat, that is with improved visual access requires the death of a long term ticket holder.  So it was remarkable to arrive to find empty seats in the choice rows. Of course, we reckoned "contemporary music," even though Anton Webern was not exactly that since he at his height one hundred years ago.  A speaker for the musicians who were to play, a fellow member of the orchestra, came out to introduce his colleagues, and he praised the audience for coming out, telling them how much it meant to the musicians to share this music with them. My husband and  I were there because I find it interesting to listen to all styles of music and he wants to see me get home safely in the late afternoon light, another act of selflessness which I fear is an ever increasing list.  The music itself was interesting and to my naive ear very hard to listen to.  To be frank, it was a two hour torture.  It says something about the attitude toward this music that the symphony orchestra does not schedule one or another of these pieces among other more familiar pieces on a regular winter concert evening.  They ghettoize the music, demonstrating its potential for alienating, when it seems to me they need to integrate it into the regular programs, pairing pieces that draw out similarities.  But what do I know?  Well, one thing: we are not going back to the second companion piece on Sunday with another all "contemporary" program.  Even I could not take it.