11+ Minutes of Sublime Beauty

Music provides a hopeful respite

Wow. I needed this, and I suspect many of you might too. 

I woke up this morning to bands of rain deluging an already-soaked Bay Area. Thanksgiving week is here, and I know I have much to be thankful for, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. Professional and personal concerns weigh heavily on my daily rhythms, not to mention the state of our nation and the world. 

As I trudged to the train for the commute to our offices in Berkeley, I noticed I was heading downhill on slippery slopes. I tried to ignore the implications of these inferred metaphors. 

I often plug in for my journey, sometimes a podcast, but more often, music that stretches across my eclectic tastes. Recently, I’ve gone from a “90s Road Trip” playlist to an incredible collection I heard at a bar in Maine this summer to jazz standards like those that will be in the soundtrack of a film I’m directing.

But today, I wanted something else—a soothing and timeless mood. So, I turned to classical music and entered a melodic world of pleasing tonal landscapes. It was someone else’s collection, and I enjoyed the variety as my mind wandered up and down various aisles of thought. 

And then, somewhere under the Bay, as I hurtled towards Oakland, I heard a piece that grabbed my attention fully with its energy, artistry, and arresting beauty. It featured an instrument I’ve always been fond of— the mandolin. And not just one mandolin but two. They sounded like they were in passionate conversation—a rich musical dialogue with each other and the rest of the stringed instruments that made up the ensemble. 

I was transfixed. 

I glanced at my screen to see what I was listening to, and I could have guessed the composer—it certainly sounded like Vivaldi. It was, in fact, his Concerto for Two Mandolins in G Major, and the maestro was celebrating his unique combination of genius and whimsy. This was the third movement, an “allegro” of spirited ingenuity that demanded virtuosity from the ensemble—especially the soloists.

I looked up the rest of the piece and listened to the first two movements. They were different but captivating in their ownways. I did some more research. Mandolins aren’t common in orchestral works. It’s a shame. I see it as akin to there not being enough pumpkin in recipes. There is nothing like adding a unique taste and texture to the mix. As for G Major, what an optimistic key— bright, open, and joyous. 

I sat in wonder at how beautiful human expression can be. Here was a composer speaking to me across the centuries, channeled through an ensemble that had gathered one evening more than eight years ago before an enthusiastic audience. None of these people could have imagined that I would need this music on a cold winter morning after a difficult election.

I also thought of all the trillions of neurons that must have fired to make these beautiful sounds possible—from their conception to their execution to their journey to my phone. I thought of the years of practice behind the musicians, the humanity stirred by the emotions in these interlocking notes. 

I marveled at the technology that allowed me to be immersed in music while riding a train through a darkened tunnel. I felt a deep sense of peace imagining the rich community that must form whenever and wherever this piece is performed.

The power of art. The sustenance of human connection. Bravo to all involved. 

Thank you for this gift of beauty, wonder, and hope.