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The last concert I attended before COVID-19 upended our way of life was part of Celine Dion’s Courage World Tour at Barclays Center on March 5, 2020. It was a magical night.
Although speculation about a global virus inching our way partly defined the experience, Dion’s ethereal voice and Canadian flair quickly had us forgetting about the world outside of Brooklyn for a few hours—an experience and mood I have been trying to relive throughout this past year.
I loved that show. It was one of the very best live gigs I had ever attended, clearly also memorable given the historical avalanche of bad news that kicked off exactly a week after the event—which is why I didn’t have the highest expectations when attending my very first concert since COVID-19 hit the world almost 14 months ago.
Put on by the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), the 1:1 CONCERTS series is made up of a slew of 10-minute private shows for an audience of one, mounted at various secluded locations within the Brooklyn Navy Yard and featuring one of 45 participating musicians from the Silkroad Ensemble.
Running next weekend as well, the series kicked off this past Saturday. It was an unforgettably transcending experience.
After checking in at a designated location within the shipyard complex, I was led to a remote, intimate site by a personal usher. Instructed not to chat with the performing musician—not to even clap at the end of the performance—I rode the elevator to an empty warehouse-looking space that took over almost an entire floor of the building. So naked was the destination that even the floors weren’t properly finished.
The windows, however, provided all the ambiance I didn’t know I needed. Overlooking Manhattan on a beautiful Friday afternoon, I was (silently) greeted by a musician dressed in black and holding what I later learned was a viola and not a violin. There was a single chair in front of her.
I took a seat, slightly bowed my head as the only acceptable way to salute her while we were both donning masks, and was met with the first note of live music I had heard with my own ears in 14 months. I immediately teared.
I'm not sure if it was the romance involved in the sound of a violin, the result of the pent-up frustration stemming from my inability to attend any sort of cultural pursuit for so long or the sheer beauty of the musician’s ability, but I cried and held my breath for the entirety of the 10-minute performance.
It was stunning, magical, unique and reminiscent of the catastrophe the world has had to endure these past months. In just a few minutes, Mario Gotoh (at the end of the show, the artist handed me a piece of paper with her name and performed piece written on it—JS Bach, suit 1 in G for solo cello/viola) reminded me of the glory of the live show and life pre-COVID, of the horrific things that have been preventing me from listening to live music for so long. At the same time, her viola urged me to start living again and be grateful for a semi-return to normalcy. It wasn’t Celine Dion’s voice, but it was certainly just as powerful.
Unable to shout “THANK YOU!” at the top of my lungs once Gotoh put her viola down, I opted instead for a deep bow of gratitude. And yet, I couldn’t help but consider that devotion to silence as the only downside of the experience. I wanted to learn everything about this beautiful musician that touched my spirit so deeply: What brought her to this moment? How has the pandemic been like? Did she need this as much as I did?
I wish I could have talked to her because that is exactly what COVID-19 mostly took away from us: the ability to truly connect with others.
Alas, if this is the sort of creative project that stems from a horrible tragedy—although I still wish said tragedy never happened—I can’t help but be thankful for having lived through it and therefore being able to have such a beautiful moment. Even if I did so all alone.