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Eddie Adelman is an award-winning writer who lives in Belfast. His book of columns and short essays is called “Don’t Get Me Started.”
This year marks the 200th anniversary of what many consider to be the greatest piece of music ever composed. It was in 1824 that Ludwig van Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony premiered at the Karntnertor Theater in Vienna.
Its enduring message of joy and peace, embodied in the final movement, “Ode to Joy,” have made it a favorite with orchestras and choirs ever since.
A notable performance of the symphony was led by Leonard Bernstein on Christmas Day 1989 in East Berlin to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall.
And personally, I’ll never forget the first time I attended a live performance of Beethoven’s Ninth. It was at Carnegie Hall in 1973.
The concert had been sold out for months and I wasn’t one of the lucky ticket holders. Yet, I was determined to get in. I spent hours in front of the hall trying to buy an extra ticket from anyone that would hear my plea. No luck.
Okay, plan B. I’ll sneak in. After all, it was only Carnegie Hall that I was trying to break into. I patiently waited outside the hall for the intermission that preceded the start of Beethoven’s Ninth.
I caught a break. An attendee who decided to leave early opened one of the locked doors. And before you could say “adagio,” I was on the inside, in that fabulous lobby.
Now what? “Just try to blend in,” I told myself. No easy task, given my long hair, t-shirt, ratty jeans and high-top sneakers.
Suddenly, the lights flashed on and off. People began heading back to their seats. But where was I supposed to go? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Help!
I headed up the stairs and found myself in a circular hallway with all these closed doors that wound around the balcony. It felt like something out of Alice in Wonderland. I could swear I saw a white rabbit scurry by, carrying a time piece, and cry out, “I’m late. I’m late.”
I asked myself, “What would Alice do?”
So I nonchalantly opened a door and entered one of those opulent boxes that overlooked the orchestra. Hello, Wonderland!
There were six chairs in this box, but only three were occupied. I dared not sit down. I just stood there, frozen, with my back up against the wall.
For all I knew, this could have been the box of the Vanderbilts, the Carnegies or the Rockefellers. Suddenly, they all turned around and saw me standing there — in their box. My heart was pounding. I thought I was a goner.
And that’s when the miracle happened.
They didn’t call security and have me carted off in chains. All three simply turned their heads back to the stage, and never looked back at me. Not once.
The lights went down. The crowd went silent. The first notes filled the hall. Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum. From that moment on I was utterly transfixed, except for my ears, which were on fire.
During the finale, the “Ode To Joy,” something quite curious happened.
For a few minutes, I couldn’t feel the floor beneath my feet. Quite literally! And, no, I wasn’t on anything.
Since I’m not what you might call a spiritual person, I figured there must be a rational reason for this occurrence. Perhaps the blood was no longer rushing to my feet. I kept pushing my feet downward just to be sure. Still, no contact.
To this day, that phenomenon remains one of the unexplained mysteries of my life.
Wondering if I might have a similar experience 28 years later in 2001, I attended the Portland Symphony Orchestra’s performance of Beethoven’s Ninth at Merrill Auditorium.
Would my body levitate once again? Sadly, no. But something even better happened. On that night, it was my heart that soared. And not a moment too soon.
That concert occurred not long after 9/11. And the atrocities in Rwanda and Bosnia were still open wounds.
In the wake of such horror, it was beyond comforting to know that mankind is also capable of unimaginable bliss and exhilaration. It took the unyielding spirit of a deaf composer to remind me of that.
In 1973, I wanted to hear Beethoven’s Ninth. In 2001, I needed to hear it.
And today, with the unspeakable horrors in Ukraine and the Middle East, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony reminds us all of the heights that mankind can and must aspire to.
How fortunate are we that Beethoven didn’t just “roll over?” His triumph is an inspiration to us all — and an ode for all time.
Especially now.
