The Symphony

Last night, I went to The Symphony. Doesn’t that sound like a civilized thing to do? You’d think that as a musician, I’d be going to The Symphony all the time.


Wrong. Think again.

It was actually the first time I’ve ever even been to the Chicago Symphony and I’ve lived here almost ten years. Frankly, I just don’t care much for symphonic music. Or for instrumentalists for that matter. When I was in music school, the instrumental majors were always a scruffy, strange bunch of people. When you think about it, what kind of person dedicates their life to playing the bassoon, anyway?

Well, a friend of mine had season tickets to the Chicago Symphony, his partner couldn’t go, so I was invited to attend. Besides, a pianist was being featured (Brahms Piano Concerto No. 1) and that sounded pretty tasty to me.

It really was a very enjoyable evening. The pianist was flawless.

As I was sitting there intently watching all the musicians, I realized that here were sixty highly-trained musicians, the best in their field, all playing in perfect synchronicity, expressing the highest artistic ideals of humanity and conveying it all through music to a loving audience. It was truly the pinnacle of human evolution.

That’s what I was thinking. It almost brought tears to my eyes.

And then I thought, “They all have anuses; every one of them.”

The beautiful, young Asian violinist,
The handsome cellist,
The conductor,
The concert pianist,
And the scruffy bassoon player . . .

They all have anuses. Sixty of them, all on stage, covered by black and white formal wear.

I’m sure that’s a good thing that they all have them, too.

It’s funny how The Symphony can make you realize such things.