Escalators hum. Footsteps echo. An announcement cuts through the air.
"Stand back, please."
In London it's "Mind the gap", over and over again, until it's etched into memory. In New York: "Stand clear of the closing doors, please."
A subway station is not a place to linger.
And then someone is standing there with an instrument.
No amplifier. No pop refrain. Just Bach.
The Prelude from the first Cello Suite – those clear, calm runs that draw a single line through the space. Bach's music lays something bare. A layer that usually stays hidden. Between timetables, advertising posters and hurried steps, something suddenly unfolds that serves no purpose.
A man with a coffee cup slows down. A woman stops, just for a few bars. A child turns around.
Around the 21st of March, Bach's birthday, this happens all over the world. Between the 21st and 31st of March, musicians take their places in subway stations, on platforms and in underpasses and play his music. No grand stage, no admission fee. Just the idea of bringing the beauty of classical music to places where you least expect it.
I haven't experienced it myself. Only seen videos. And yet it stays with me.
Perhaps I write about it because I hope to one day stop and stand still myself.
Because I want to know what it feels like when something unhurried comes into being right in the middle of transit. Just for a moment. And then it moves on, the escalator runs, hurried steps and fragments of conversation drift past. But perhaps Bach's touch carries us through the day.
Mind the gap.
B.
Comments