Bach / Enquist, impressions
A concert in De Duif, a church in the centre of Amsterdam.
The music, Bach, the poems, read and written by Anna Enquist.
Before the break, my visual attention was mostly drawn to the fatty bulge protruding from the colar of the man sitting in front of me and the man sitting next to me, dozing off and leaning towards me at a frightening angle.
The church, its glory waning as time progresses. Water damage and time are taking their toll. A painting, on loan from a museum sinse 1929, hanging too loosely in its frame…
This made a sharp contrast with the modern scaffolding like construction on the ceiling, holding lamps, and by the looks of it, improving the accoustics.
The music and poems were a strange combination. Anna Enquist read about the death of her doughter and the aftermath.
Before the break, her poems were easy to understand, where they came from, what she meant, after the break they were more abstract and more depressing. I realise the feeling of loss embedded in her words is what draws me to them, but it’s also what drives me away.
Heavy listening for a Sunday afternoon.
Her voice, soft and comforting, radiating so much love and loss, it becomes almost painfull to listen to it. And yet there is understanding, compassion and gentleness in delivering that pain.
The chairs seemed to shriek and moan under the heavy load of her words, while they made it impossible to sit still as they were an attack to your spine.
Bach, the music, comforting, giving hope, cheering you up, grounding you, just Bach.
The sound delivered by a choir, so rich and full, a round sound. And then a solo, high and pure, sending shivers down your spine in its glory. It was marvelous.
Some members of the choir, their ties, just off, that one lilac tie.
It was funny how you could hear my mothers husband’s voice clearly among the others, while my mothers voice was drowning in a group of voices.
All in all, it was a concert I’m not likely to forget.