Freude trinken alle Wesen: A five-year debt paid!

Today I saw the Chapter Eleven Players (or, the Philadelphia Orchestra) play Beethoven's Ninth.

(That's right its another mountain picture.  The very one from my banner, no less, and in a post that's not even about mountains.  But I think you can see the connection, definitely in my mind, but also objectively, between mountains, Beethoven, and the Ninth.)

It is difficult for me to convey exactly how much I love this piece of music.  Its approaching Clockwork-Alex levels of visceral response, but that brings in...uh, understatement of the century...unpleasant connotations that I don't want.  Anyway.  In discussions of classical music, my Dad is often getting after me for ranking Beethoven above Bach in the tally of the Grand Three.  And I grant him his argument- Bach, as does Mozart, makes exceptional music; beautiful, memorable, and skilled-beyond-par.  But there is something about Beethoven that just socks me right in the gut (in a good way, of course)- his music is evocative, from the inspirational power of the symphonies to the wistful piano sonatas (the second movement of the Pathetique gets me every. time.), Beethoven plows into my neurons and knocks their socks off.

And the Ninth pretty much exemplifies the whole range- I've got goosebumps from the first murmurings of those strings in the first movement and a stupid grin plastered on my face from the first hint of the Ode to Joy theme in the fourth.  Its interesting (string recitatives?  second movement scherzo? dissonant instrumental rejection of prior themes?), its memorable, it has an explicit enlightenment, humanist message (brotherly love, doncha know) and its just...happy.  Joyful, even. 

But back to that "debt" thing from the header.  You see, I tried to see this once before.  Well, technically I did see it, but it wasn't the experience I hoped for.  Five years ago, the PhilOrch played this at the Mann Center, our outdoor grass-seating amphitheater, and it was going to be the perfect first viewing of the Ninth live- romantic picnic, fireworks, summer air, a view of the city.  Just perfect.  But boyfriend dawdled after his training ride and failed to meet me there before the gates closed.  I sat through the whole performance and the fireworks, alone with a picnic, lonely and fuming, surrounded by happy couples and families.  Boyfriend lurked somewhere outside the fence.  Ever since, boyfriend has owed me the Ninth.  We even debated driving up to NYC.  But this year our poor, sad, broke orchestra put it in their season and it was just as incredible as I hoped it would be.  Boyfriend- your debt is officially paid.