another tale spun, another lesson learnt

Seven years ago, I used to be a season ticket holder of the Singapore Symphony Orchestra. That year was, 2002, marked their first season in The Esplanade. Almost every (other) weekend after band rehearsals, I will head down alone to the Esplanade to be mesmerised by the music they make. And of course, some concerts didn't meet my expectations, and I had to try very hard to not fall asleep and end up snoring for some other of their concerts too.

It's gonna take a long while before I reach my point, but do bear with me if you are reading... If not, scroll down to Para 6.

Despite the often harsh and undeserved criticism directed at it, I still think that they are a damn good orchestra. Whenever a friend tells me that the SSO 'sucks', I'll ask them whether or not they have heard them 'live'. Unsurprisingly, the answer often is 'no'. And if not, he will most probably tell me he last went for one of their concerts 'a few years ago' and then fail to tell me the repertoire for that concert.

I'm not the kind that would go to places on my own. I wish I can be more like that though. But not so when I attend a concert. It feels like a dream each time I do so; the lights dim off, Alexander Souptel, the concert master, tunes the orchestra; the conductor struts in, often with a soloist; and the music starts at a flick of his baton. I get transported into another world where I'm immersed in what I love most. I no longer feel alone.

Unfortunately, last Friday's concert was one of their 'off-days'. It was the first time hearing Borodin's Polovetzian Dance from Prince Igor. It was certainly a great piece of music but the orchestra sounded nervous and was unable to keep up with the baton of Yoel Levi. For all the brilliance of Stephen Hough, he couldn't do the impossible, which was to make Tchaikovsky's second piano concerto sound entertaining and unforgettable. And then of course, there was Scherezade.

In the legendary Arabian folk story One Thousand and One Nights, Sharyr, the King of Persia caught his wife in an act of infidelity. In rage, he executes her and professes that all women are unfaithful. He goes on a daily ritual to marry a virgin each day only to have her executed the next morning. And soon, his aide can no longer find any virgin in the land and offers to the King his (the aide's) very own daughter. Her name was Scherezade. And on the night of their marriage, Scherezade tells the King a story, but does not end it, thus forcing the King to postpone her execution so that she could live another night to continue telling her story to the King. And on that second night, as soon as she finishes her first story, she goes on to tell another one and does not reveal the conclusion, so that she can live another day. And in her collection of stories includes the famous stories of Sinbad, Ali-Baba and Aladdin. And you thought those were Disney originals? And so, this went on for a thousand and one nights until Scherezade finally manages to touch the heart of the King and they lived happily ever after.

So in Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's symphonic suite named after the Scherezade, the opening violin solo represents her, and expresses her desperation at facing the question of whether can she live another day. Just like seven years ago, Alexander Souptel played the violin solo. Then, I was completely mesmerised by it, and imagined myself as the King being held spellbound by the tales spun by Scherezade. But this time, everything went well til the last note, went he started to sound really shaky as he held the note. Then the violin slipped slightly off his chin. It wasn't very visible but I could see it, as I was only 5 rows away from the stage. Then, everything fell apart. His vibrattos sounded really ridiculously shaky. And just like in the story where Scherezade had to tell a story each night, Alexander had to play many violin solos throughout the suite. Everything that could turn bad happened. He started sounding really thin and squeaky, like the strings on his bow were crying out for wax. His double stops weren't precise. Even his intonation was really off at certain points.

This ain't the same solo I heard seven years back.

But when it all ended, and as the audience started applauding, Alexander stood up. With a somewhat sheepish smile, he shook the conductor's hand. Then faced the audience to bow. And right before he did so, I broke out in a smirk (because I am really impressed with how well he has taken it in his stride, and also that I know he is a really awesome soloist but just had a bad day). And perhaps he saw the shiny reflection from my braces and looked at me and gave me an eye-to-eye smile in the warmest way possible for about half a second.

What struck me most was how he managed not to feel guilt-ridden or ashamed of his mistakes. He was confident. He had nothing to prove to the audience. After all, I believe it wasn't the first time most of us present heard SSO play Scherezade. THey play it almost every year. And in all humility and down-to-earth-ness, he took it all in his stride.

Which reminds me, how I missed the high-C in the cadenza during my trumpet solo that very same seven years ago during my last concert with Dunman High. Looking back, I think I did even better than Alexander as I managed to stay focused for the rest of the solo and didn't make another mistake after that only one, whereas he made one after another. But after my solo, I didn't dare to look at the audience. I felt terrible. All because of that one note out of the hundreds of them.

I think the response often might be to push myself to do better the next time and give myself the pressure to do so. But I realised that thinking like that made me unable to move on. And I am still carrying the baggages of my past mistakes.

Despite the not-so-good performance by the orchestra last Friday, I walked home having learnt something. That shit does happen every once in a while. Life is most definitely not a bed of roses, but God is always there. And even if you do not believe in God, shit hits the roof every once in a while simply by probability. It's just like the more often you drive the car, the more likely you are to get into an accident. The longer you live, the more often you will stumble or make the occasional mistake. But the most important thing is not to allow it to prevent you from climbing greater heights just because there is a fear of repeating a similar mistake.

Some ppl might say that repeated mistakes are lessons that weren't learnt the first round. Well, that may be true, but in my opinion, repeating mistakes are certainly better remaining trapped in the past.