Mahler 2

At the very core of String Theory is the idea that the universe, when divided into the smallest indivisible unit of stuff, is made of one dimensional vibrating strings. This theory is exciting to new age types because, well it’s the vibes man.

It’s an attractive theory to me because it might go some way to explaining why music has the ability to so utterly transform us. It’s not just the melody, although that can make us cry or transport us instantly to where we were ten or so years ago, as we sat in a little Crêperie up a mountain in France hearing Air’s “Kelly Watch the Stars” for the first time. It’s not just the rhythm, although that can, with a grunt from the Godfather and a riff from the funky drummer hitting it on the one, make us dance like crazed animals. It’s not just the lyrics, which, in a tune like the Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back”, can make you declare undying love for an ex-girlfriend in the middle of an office party on a boat on the Thames with no possible escape from the humiliation.

No, there is more going on. It’s the frequencies.

“Can we change these frequencies?
Can we trade them in for dreams?
Can we stay asleep for them?
And Lucifer, if we say please, can we keep them?”

sang Thee More Shallows in their post-rock classic “Walk of Shame” and yes indeed, although for another day, we know that popular music is the devil’s music, stemming as it does from the moment Robert Johnson stood at the Crossroads and sold his soul in return for immortality. But all that tells us is that the vibes can be used as a force for good or a force for evil (although the devil has all the best tunes).

In some of last years more experimental gigs, particularly Ryoji Ikeda at the Barbican, you could feel the vibrations of different low end frequencies scanning your body, the bass mashing up your legs, stomach, and chest. Similarly some of the weird noises in the Photophonic Experiment you felt as much as heard.

And some music has the ability to make you feel like your head is being washed and massaged – in this category I would include Mystical Sun. His cd “Primordial Atmospheres” boasts of using “brain entraining binaural beats” to “induce and enhance the body’s autonomic responses to primordial sounds”. You are advised to listen through headphones as some of the tracks are designed to co-ordinate and balance the left and right hemispheres of your brain. If you think that sounds daft, consider that it has long been suggested that listening to Mozart’s works for two pianos will improve children’s intelligence; the suggestion is that something in the interweaving patterns stimulates the brain.

All of which is a round about way of explaining how it came to pass that, in my efforts to open up the channels in my brain, I found myself saying to Big Ol that I was thinking of exploring classical music. “Try Mahler’s Second” said Big Ol. That was Tuesday last week. And with remarkable serendipity, I went on the net and found the LSO were performing Mahler 2 (as they call it) last night and that there was one seat left in the whole of the Barbican Hall, in a good position, and it quickly had my name on it.

It must be 8 years since my last classical gig, a solo recital on the fortepiano (as opposed to the pianoforte) by a Russian lady with very small hands who my colleague Lady M. of K. had helped secure a UK passport for. Lady M was now trying to secure a nice Jewish husband for her client. I was to be that man. I took my brother along for moral support and it was a good job I did because I could not keep my eyes open during the concert at the Wigmore Hall. Only his constant nudging saved me from humiliation. Well I didn’t fancy her (small hands you see, no good) so that was that.

Back at the Barbican, I allowed myself a coffee (from a big metal flask behind the bar, no milk – The Latte Days would not have been impressed) and, a little nervous, settled into my seat. My goodness there were a lot of people on stage. 200 odd at least.

They say Mahler was Jewish but I have my doubts because 100 or so were singers who just sat there until ten minutes before the end – you’d never have got away with that at Farnham & Co – “do you really need 100, can’t you make do with 50, and give them something to do, you can’t just have them sitting around doing nothing, I’m certainly not going to pay them for just sitting there…And all those violins, ach!)

The first movement or act (whatever you call it) went quite well – I got myself into a good mental zone. Then there was a little break and an outpouring of suppressed coughing from the audience, accompanied by some childish sniggering at the silliness of the coughing. And I made a fatal error. I popped a Halls Soother in my mouth. I thought there would be a longer pause, but no, they were off, and into a very quiet section. I could hear the sweet rattling against my teeth – I should say that there was an effect not unlike meditation, whereby every sound around you becomes amplified. Every time I swallowed, the glandular squeezing sound seemed to echo around me, and to make it worse my saliva ducts went into frenzied overdrive. The lady next to me seemed to be staring hard at me from the very corner of her eye (or maybe it was my imagination). Time slowed. The sweet would not dissolve. Oh if only Big Ol were here, I moaned (silently), he would not have let me make such a schoolboy error. The second act finished and I crunched the Soother away with relish and relief.

From there on things seemed to go very quickly indeed. There were some lovely bits, some loud bits, another ghostly experience when the orchestra fell silent, but the conductor carried on and music wafted in from outside (at first I thought it was pre-recorded, but I saw in the programme notes there were a bunch of people listed as being “outside the hall" – strangely enough I saw the other side of this the night before - waiting to go into the Mira Calix gig – as the fella was toasting my mozzarella and tomato panini in the hall of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, some musicians gathered by the entrance to the theatre, played a burst of some marching music, then buggered off).

Things got very dramatic, the chorus rose, then a bit later they sang too. A couple of women in nice frocks did some singing too. Then everyone played and sang together – it was loud, dramatic and very nice. Suddenly it was Austin Rover, game over. Everyone looked very happy. There was a lot of clapping. And I was home by 10.

Well, I enjoyed it. Maybe I was a little uncomfortable, as in out of my comfort zone, which is always a good thing. I know my mind was racing for a lot of the time with quite profound thoughts, but as soon as it was over I couldn’t remember any of them. The time passed very quickly too, which must be a good sign. I would definitely do it again.

There was a lady in the orchestra who looked a bit like a pretty Asian girl who was at Farnham & Co. In the night, I had a very pleasant dream about that girl, culminating in her enveloping me in her surprisingly warm and soft breasts (like freshly baked rolls they were).

And waking up this morning, I do feel as though my brain has had quite a good work out.

Must have been the vibes.