I’ve wanted to write a recurring post on this theme for a while, but have so far been my usual lazy self. Today though, I had such an affecting experience, I couldn’t let it go. I love living in the city, and I prefer to walk whenever possible; because that is the way I feel closest to the people around me. It’s weird, considering how introverted I am, that this is the case; but for some reason, despite my shyness, I still crave the company of other people - especially as an observer. Periodically, while doing this, I will stumble across a happening that I return to in my memories again and again. Something unexpected, preferably unmanufactured, that I would never have seen while zipping by in a car.
Today I walked to the gym, a half-hour trek that usually takes me through Horner Park. The day was in the 80s (still is as I write this), sunny and gorgeous, with a perfect light breeze. At the north end of the park is a modest hill, the epitomization of grassy knoll (sans assassins). This being Chicago, it is certainly unnatural, and looking at the wide even banks of the Chicago River which abuts the park on the east, my guess is it was created as a byproduct of dredging and reshaping that stretch of waterway.
The trees in Horner Park are tall and broad, and densely shade most of the paths around the hill, and as I approached, I noticed an unusual thrumming sound, a repeated note, that began to emerge from beneath the rustle of wind-stirred leaves. Searching for the source of the sound, I quickly realized there was an orchestra on the hill. Interestingly, they were not in the expected formation, but rather were collected in groups of five or six around the hill, forming a rough circle with it’s easternmost point at the top. The groups were arranged about ten yards apart and did not conform to the traditional orchestral sections. Woodwinds, strings, brass, percussion were scattered throughout the groups, with no apparent pattern.
And as I passed them, I realized they were tuning.
This was not like what I am used to from the start of orchestral performances. The oboe holding the note A 440 (yes I looked that up on the interwebs) with the other instruments quickly piling on and increasing in volume until a few seconds later they are finished and ready to play. I’ve always loved that anyway, but this was different. It was like a mantra, a repeating pulsating note that continued for the duration of my walk through the park. And I was mesmerized.
oboe A…A...A…A…A…
violin out of tune A…A…finding the right pitch…A…A…A…
clarinet A…A…A…A…A…
then the cello an octave lower
As I walked - now very slowly - one group would fade out and another would take its place, and the leaves would rustle, and the shadows would play across my face, and out in the bright sun, the notes continued. Musicians out of tune, then finding the tune. Repeat. Repeat.
And I started to tear up.
Granted I am extremely susceptible to getting emotional from music, and this was particularly intense. I don’t know why. Repeating rhythms, cacophony yearning for harmony? Church bells (real ones) always make me well up, and this was similar. Whatever it was, I was enthralled and took my time making my way to the park exit. Several bystanders had encamped in the shade near the musicians, waiting for the inevitable performance to start, but I didn’t want to hear it. Nothing they could play at that point was going to hit me as heavily as that tuning session did, and I needed to have that in my head for the rest of the walk to the gym.
I suddenly thought of an exercise from acting class. We would partner up, look at the person across from us, and describe their emotion - on repeat. You’re happy. You’re happy. You’re happy. And they would return the phrase, but reverse the person. I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy. And we were supposed to watch our partner, and if their eyes or their voice or their countenance in some way did not match the emotion we had described, we had to adjust the phrase. You’re confused. You’re confused. You’re confused. And so on until we were in sync, emotionally, reading and feeling where that person actually was, as opposed to our initial impression.
Human beings out of tune, then finding the tune.
I guess that’s kind of beautiful.