Voce III

San Antonio dei Portoghesi

I’ve previously mentioned the sounds of a chorus and an organ in my bathroom.  It turns out that on an especially enthusiastic day in San Luigi dei Francesi, the sound can reach further into my hallway too.  This is a semi-regular thing, as Catholic mass is held on Saturdays and Sundays and select holidays. A lot of area churches also hold concerts.  They’re invariably free and also a good way to both see and experience a new place. 

We attended an organ concert at S. Antonio dei Portoghesi a couple of weekends ago.  Former students will remember that for me, ‘churches are museums, and museums are churches.’  So one of my favorite Roman past-times is to wander into unfamiliar churches, to see what treasures they hold, how the spaces are organized, and generally learn stuff.  I wandered into this particular church just days prior to the concert, was blown away by the polychrome marble in the interior, saw the concert signage and brought The Spouse back for the performance. 

I have a cousin who can seriously play the organ, but I must confess to not having a serious appreciation for the art form.  I don’t know what I expected exactly, but I did not expect improvisational (something that this organist is known for, apparently) sometimes ultra-contemporary, even dissonant music.  I did not expect to watch the organist's (click on that link for his website - he has quite the impressive pedigree) limbs ALL appear to fly all over the instrument, with its 5 keyboards, dozen or more foot pedals, and countless stoppers (what ARE those things supposed to be called? aha! drawknobs).  Granted, this is a warm, Mediterranean locale, but this guy was really sweating when he concluded his performance. 

This instrument is a bigger deal than I realized.

Pipe-wise, this is all that's visible to the church visitor, but there's much, much more (click on the hyperlink in the preceding caption)

A lot of time and energy was devoted to the restoration of this organ.  It is clearly the jewel of this church.

I could say something predictable and preachy about how we should stop and savor art wherever we find it, and perhaps many readers would agree with me.  Too much agreement can kill a nice chat, though.  To be fair, I can’t exactly say that I completely savored the music in that performance.  I’m not sure that I could say that I appreciated the music, either.  For me, appreciation accompanies some degree of enlightened understanding.  Clearly, a few other attendees would have concurred, thereby justifying their exit before the conclusion of the performance.

We stuck around until the end, though. 

Because here’s what I did appreciate:  that Roman (and in some ways, generally Italian) affinity for co-mingled eras in time.  In a remarkably ornate 17^th century church interior, outfitted with religious and mortuary art, an overwhelming amount of gilded architectural elements and gorgeous colored stone and, of course, an impressive organ, the church organist staged a performance of 20^th and 21^st century music that was edgy and raw and most unlike the kind of music that that organ was originally intended to issue.  The tourists who thought they’d experience a free show didn’t know what to make of it.  And the older, established community  members may have also not known what to make of it, but they listened very attentively anyway.  I have a theory about why, but first...

You can go to find musical performances in this city, or they can come to find you.  

How often does one visit a large metropolitan place like this - or like New York, like San Francisco, like London - and find performers on street corners and in mass transit stations with their guitar cases open for the coins that passersby might offer?  It's a regular feature.  And if you've seen enough of them, you've encountered a wide range of types and qualities. In this instance, Rome is, for the most part, no different.

Virtually every restaurant in the historic city center has outdoor seating.  It's so popular during the evening hours to sit outside because for some reason, despite the blistering heat of the day, there is this magical window of time between 6ish and 9ish that the heat and humidity dissipate, and the air is wonderful.  But to sit outside carries with it the high risk that a busker of some sort will set up and serenade you, whether you like it or not.  Whether they're any good - or not. And when they're done, they'll pass the change jar, table to table.  

And even if you aren't 'blessed' with such performances while dining, you'll most assuredly encounter them on your passeggiata.  The Spouse has a low threshold for bad musical performances.  Really low. This virtual intolerance can have positive and negative impacts.  Positively speaking, it means that he will go out of his way to spare coins for the good performers when he encounters them. 

For the young woman playing classical pieces on a violin in the piazza fronting Santa Maria Sopra Minerva at 10pm, coins went into her violin case.  And for this vocalist, bravely putting it out there on a tourist-laden evening street, singing to people lapping up gelato, The Spouse spared coins as well:

Organ concert-goers listening attentively to this sometimes dissonant, ultra-contemporary performance in a 17th century church...opera on a cobblestone street, stationed between fluorescent-lit gelaterias and pizzerias with turisti menus...yes, this seems perfectly normal here.   

Because…art.  Because it’s everywhere, here.  Because the old co-exists alongside the new, and it’s all embraced and encouraged and even sometimes tolerated because it's all gravely serious. 

Because it matters. Fundamentally. 

It is akin to breathing. 

I’ll return to this theme often, I’m certain, because it is borne out here in so many ways - in fashion, architecture, design, fine art.  It can't not be a cornerstone of this blog. 

And it is still – even after my repeated visits, and even while learning to live here – such an earth-shattering concept to this American, from a place where beauty is not necessarily a birthright.