When The Music Dies…

An unusual letter came yesterday.

 

On reading the lines, something touched me deep inside…..

 

But surely, it’s not what the world is interested in; not that the death of Hendon Music Society matters.

After fifty-one years, the music charity comes to an end. Putting a good spirit, its long-standing presence, according to the letter from its former President, is “a cause for celebration”.

I sighed.

I imagined how difficult for the Committee members to reach for the decision. Yet, there was a thought nagging at the back of my mind: could they have told me earlier?

I went to the concerts four times. Firstly, for Eleanor Turner’s harp recital. Then a piano recital. Thirdly, for the Chamber Ensemble of London . Lastly, with my then five-year-old son to its Sunday’s family concert in which he learnt a range of percussion instruments and played the drums for the first time.

And I must say that those performances were superb. Something you would’ve seen in either the Proms or Royal Festival Hall. Except that it had a smaller audience and the venue wasn’t grand; a local church nearby my children’s school. But all the same, each performance was awfully good.

I may not remember the name of the pieces played nor other brilliant musicians who were performing, but I do remember that most of the melodies lingered in my head. And the little boy I brought now is learning the drums at school. And he plays the piano, too taught by Renee Reznek.

When I saw the leaflet back in 2005, I was thrilled. I said to myself: goodbye Wigmore Hall, I’ll do it locally from now on.

£14 for the ticket might’ve seemed a lot for an enjoyment. Moreover, who would’ve wanted to spend a Saturday night sitting quietly for over two hours? Therefore I went alone, for my female acquaintances might’ve been dismissive to the idea. Besides, my husband had to babysit our children.

I was brought up in a country where a classical music performance is precious. In the first year I lived in London I fulfilled my penchant for finest compositions from the great composers, even though it meant having to queue for the standing tickets and poured over the papers skimming admission free lunch time concerts. Going to Barbican, a thirty minutes walk from my student hall, was considered as a treat.

Furthermore, I used to believe that the Western society would’ve had a better appreciation to music. More importantly, I was confident that the public wouldn’t have let the music die. Perhaps, fading, but vanished?

Little did I realise at the time that such an appreciation was partly due to education. Just like any other subject, it has to be introduced, nurtured, learnt and supported within communities. With hindsight, I was naive to think that a grandeur establishment such as Royal Albert Hall or the West End was evidence to “a great appreciation”.

So when I didn’t see the HMS’s leaflet last autumn at the church’s gate, it didn’t occur to me that its curtain had been drawn. In fact, I thought I had missed it. For I was looking forward to come again after “my absence” during 2010-2011 season due to the birth of my youngest in January 2011. As she was bigger, leaving her for a few hours at night would have been fine.

“…and to you the audience whose attendance made it all so worthwhile”.

That was the end of the letter.

I sighed again, speechless.

Something touched me deep inside
The day the music dies..

I folded the letter.

So bye-bye Hendon Music Society,

Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”**

 **lyrics from “American Pie” by Don Mc Lean