The evening concert (our closing concert in Hamburg) is another example [see Experience 1402252838822], but this time a delightful one. For the first time in Germany the dome is packed; twenty minutes before the concert every seat is taken, and by 8 p.m. people are packed into every available space, and are standing behind the back row as well as sitting on the edge of the stage. The atmosphere is elating, and we all feel the adrenalin which has been missing from many of our concerts here. Everything goes well; the Poulenc flute sonata, dignified by Michael's sorrow at parting from an old girlfriend in the afternoon, is more than usually meaningful. Then the Mozart concerto goes beautifully; I feel the concentration of the audience surrounding me and the string quartet as the white of egg surrounds and protects the yolk. The Schubert after the interval is an even more striking example of this feeling; they play it in the middle of the dome, sitting directly under the five points of the topmost pentagon, and I am very struck by how antiphonal things in the music really seem antiphonal, not experienced flatly, or on one plane as they are when you watch the players on the stage, going 'tick-tock' from side to side like a pendulum, but passing in 'deep' space from one part to another part of the dome, north-south and east-west. I notice that the audience is fascinated by the player nearest them; for example, people follow the viola part all the way through, which they never have a chance to do if the viola is in its usual position on the stage, and people are obviously fascinated too by the nearness of physical exertion - not only that, but the nearness of such graceful movement too. I notice too that, with the audience sitting in a complete circle, it's nice to be able to watch other people listening. You look past the players to a quarter-circle of attentive faces, and it feels much less lonely than being in the concert hall, where you all look in the same direction and you can't see anyone else's face. Far from being distracting to see other listening faces, it feels supportive, and Warren Stewart, a cellist friend who had come along to help us, says it's nice that no-one is further back than the third row; you always listen better when you're that close to the musicians. The quality of the whole evening, of the playing and of the listening, is what we've been striving towards and we all feel, having experienced it, that no finer reward could come our way. It feels as though all the effort is justified, and in fact the whole evening is a rather moving experience especially for those of us who have seen a lot of the rough, and who therefore respond emotionally to the smooth. << less