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Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday fell on the same day this year, and on that day, I found myself in the National Concert Hall, two rows ahead of a man by whom I became transfixed.
No, it wasn’t love at first sight, it was something a lot more interesting than that.
I was in the concert hall for a night of The Divas. My friend Karen sat beside me, with the heart on her Claddagh ring facing upwards while her boyfriend sat at home, waiting for his turn that Friday.
I think that’s what they call love.
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After a quick Mexican bite, we rushed into the concert hall, where we had missed the inaugural track. Was it heartache or enrapture that set the tone for the evening? Baby, I just don’t know.
Karen and I had bought the cheapest tickets, which on this occasion meant we had the best seats in the house. Squeezed between two couples, we sat in the front row of the balcony, where we had full sight not only of the orchestra, but of nearly every crowd member. Near perfect seats, for the most perfect night of the year for people-watching.
The tone of the evening was jazzy. The RTÉ Concert Orchestra’s punchy rendition of Whitney Houston’s Saving All My Love for You made me want to forget all the lessons I had learnt in therapy, and find another unavailable man to pine after at home.
The tone shifted briefly with a rendition of Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now, written astoundingly by the artist when she was the same age as my Valentine’s date – a mere 23
Cause I’d rather be home feeling bluuuuue
Ah! Heartache! What a glamourous condition.
My attention flitted between the percussionist in charge of cymbals and chimes who succeeded in adding drama to each piece at just the right moment, and the kaftan-clad women who jiggled along. I only briefly zoned out during a rogue rendition of Girls Aloud’s The Promise, when Karen told me she had never before heard the song. It was released when she was eight…
[ Brigid O’Dea: My attempt to describe an acute migraine attack ]
‘There’s only one way up, and one way down, you know’
Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive was a particularly jubilant affair that had most of the audience on their feet. This included a man in a misshapen umber suit a few rows to my left. That he was alone did not hinder his dancing, which demonstrated a particular gusto which only someone who felt each word of the blessed track would be capable of.
Go on now, go. Walk out the door.
Just turn around now, cause I’m not helpless any more
The tone shifted briefly with a rendition of Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now, written astoundingly by the artist when she was the same age as my Valentine’s date – a mere 23. No one dared disrupt the reverie with dance. Every woman in attendance turned their gaze wistfully to the past, while a man nearby affectionately tapped out the rhythm on his wife’s thigh.
Well something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day.
There was something about him that I couldn’t figure out. And isn’t that the thing that draws us to love? Not the knowing, but the question
The tone lifted again with more jazzy renditions of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. and Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves, to which the crowd rose from their seats to dance once more. If the evening was an exploration of the many emotions of love, it concluded on its joviality.
Now this is a song to celebrate
The conscious liberation of the female state
Mothers, daughters and their daughters too, yeah
Woman to woman We’re singing with you
It’s wasn’t about who or how you’re loving, but about doing it with verve.
In every orchestra, as in every crowd, there tends to be one player who dominates your attention. And this evening it was the man two rows behind me. But why him? In a crowd of exuberant, deep-feeling dancers, why pick the demure character, sitting just out of view? Why arch your neck when so much magic lay within view? Well, that’s exactly why. There was something about him that I couldn’t figure out. And isn’t that the thing that draws us to love? Not the knowing, but the question.
[ Brigid O’Dea: What would we do if we didn’t fear embarrassment? ]
But it wasn’t just this. It was the ashes on his forehead that had me transfixed. They capered about as he cautiously nodded his head along to Cher’s Believe. There was something so beautifully incongruous in the image (which perhaps says more about me and my millennial Irish upbringing than it does about him).
As the electro-pop anthem tinkled around us, my mind rushed with questions. Who was this man? Why was he here? What did his day before the concert look like? Had he come straight from the church? Was that a clerical collar beneath his black shirt? What did the ashes mean to him? And the music? Did this man believe in an afterlife?
And most importantly, did he believe in life after love?