Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra

When we left Spooner for Seoul, I thought there was a good chance we'd get to take in a few events more momentous and memorable than, say, Jackpine Savage Days or Friday nite fish fry at Pair o' Lakes Resort (although those of you who have eaten there on a Friday night may argue that little in life is more memorable than Sherry's Special).  And so, when the music director at Stacey's school offered up tickets to attend a performance of the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra at the Seoul Arts Center, we embraced the opportunity.

Sophie, the music director, is married to a wonderfully gifted musician who currently holds the principal trumpet seat in the orchestra.  In recent years, under the direction of a charismatic Korean conductor, the Seoul Philharmonic has joined the ranks of the best symphony orchestras in the world.

The Seoul Arts Center is south of the Han River which bisects Seoul east to west.  Our home territory is up north.  Seven of us, four rookies and three old-timers who have been here a year, met up and caught a bus from school to Seokgye subway station about dusk.  When we hopped off the bus at Seokgye, the street food vendors were out in full force.  I love the bright colors of their illuminated stands and the delicious aromas of their offerings.  I could have stayed put right there, sat down on the curb, and stuffed my face all night long.  My insatiable appetite for greasy street food would have to be put on hold though for the time being.  There was no time to waste.

We boarded the subway for about a forty-five minute ride south.  We had to transfer once.  Somewhere along one of the two lines, our gang of seven was separated a bit, and I was closest to Stacey, Brittany, and Suanne -- three North American Korea rookies.  Koreans tend to be quite reserved and subdued on the subway.  Many sleep, yet somehow, wake up just in time for their stop.  Three North American women together do not sleep on the subway.  They converse, loudly and constantly, even when seated on opposite sides of the aisle.  Luckily, we were not shushed.

The plan was to meet Sophie, and a few other stragglers making their own way down, at the Arts Center.  We emerged from the Nambu station after nightfall.  We all knew the center was about a ten minute walk in some direction, the unknown being what direction.  Suanne declared we could go this way or that way pointing in two different directions.  We opted for this way.  We wandered around a while until our mild state of confusion gave way to absolute and total bewilderment.  "Lost" never crossed our minds because we knew if we looked befuddled enough, some good-hearted Korean would rescue us.

It never even reached the point of rescue, at least not a frantic rescue, as we simply started waving our tickets around, and sure enough, a kindly Korean gentleman motioned for us to take thirty more paces forward, turn left, and eureka, we had arrived.

Our entourage moved into the plaza where we were to meet Sophie.  We milled around looking helpless, and sure enough, Sophie found us.  She began to point out the highlights of the Seoul Arts Center.  Being more worldly than Stacey and I, she asked if we'd ever been to Lincoln Center in New York City so she could use it to draw analogies.  I assured her we hadn't, but if it's anything like what I was seeing, it's very grand.

We were seated in the concert hall with little time to spare.  The printed program was in Korean so I had no idea what to expect next, other than music.  The performance was under the direction of a guest conductor from Poland.  Good thing too.  Sophie informed me that if the usual Korean conductor (who has taken on rock star status) was in the house, she would not have been able to scrounge up tickets.

The performance was grand, even to the musically challenged like me.  The conductor leapt and pranced and lurched fitfully.  The trumpets trumpeted, the flutes fluted, the harps harped, and a violinist front row and center outfiddled the devil.  It was all very pleasing to the ear.

Don't ask me what compositions were being performed.  I don't know; that is, with the exception of what, for lack of the proper musical term, I will call the second part.  It was then a buxom gal in a teal, chiffon dress emerged.  She stood in stark contrast to the black and white clad orchestra players.  The orchestra played and she sang beautifully as the projected lyrics in both the original German and the translated Korean filled a large area of the overhead wall.  

She was singing in German, but, once again, I was clueless as to the title or origin of the work.  But I was clever enough to memorize a few of the work's subtitles that flashed on the wall.  I am fully aware of the power of Google.  Go home, enter a key word or two, and all the accumulated knowledge in the history of man fills the computer screen.

For you music lovers out there, I took it upon myself to do a little research.  I know that runs counter to my shoot from the hip nature, but I've been known to go above and beyond the call of duty on momentous occasions.  As I referred to early on, there just hasn't been that many of those.  Thanks to my excessive diligence and abundant curiosity, I can tell you that the lovely lady's segment of the concert was a 19th century work by the German composer Richard Wagner, commonly referred to as  "The Wesendonck Lieder".

Upon completion of her fine performance, the audience clapped and cheered and clapped some more.  She exited but the clapping continued.  She returned and clapped along with the audience, hesitating momentarily, as she swept her outstretched arm acknowledging the orchestra.  A crescendo of clapping ensued.  She exited again, only to be called back by yet more clapping.  She bowed humbly before the audience.  That went over really well as the clapping rose to thunderous proportions.  Grateful folks in the audience clapped until calluses protruded from their palms.  Seldom have I witnessed such appreciation.

An intermission followed the diva's aria after which the orchestra played on.  Occasionally, from the onset of the concert, there were brief lulls in the performance as the tone and tempo of the music shifted gears.  Somehow, the audience knew not to commence clapping at those times, but used the hesitations as an opportunity to expel all those suppressed coughs that had been pent up in lungs.  The cacophony of coughing and hacking was not as pleasing as what had preceded it, but was unique in its own, gee whiz, those people must have been suffering sort of way.

The music was quiet and poignant at times and loud and robust at others.  The audience was moved.  A gal seated immediately to my right, now and again, imitated the antics of the conductor.  She did a nice job of limiting her gyrations to her confined space and I was able to avoid getting whacked upside my head.

At the concert's close, more clapping erupted and went on endlessly.  People clapped until those recently formed calluses were worn off their hands.  The Polish conductor singled out Sophie's husband for an ovation.  As he stood in acknowledgement, a rousing cheer arose from the home team in my proximity.

Being insiders in Sophie's company, our little gang hung around the back door following the show, waiting for her husband to emerge.  Stacey and I were pleased to meet him for the first time.  We even got to congratulate his friend, the guy who outfiddled the devil, in person.

It was time to split up.  Some of us shuffled off to the entertainment district of Itaewon for a nightcap and some of us headed for the Nambu station to catch a subway ride home.  Stacey and I were part of the subway crowd.  Old age setting in, I guess.