BY ANNIE CULVER
As I took a seat at Benaroya Hall in Seattle, I clutched one of my mother’s old, embroidered hankies. Never before had I felt nervous about a concert, but I was unsure what would unfold when guest pianist Stephen Hough played Rachmaninov’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini” a few years ago with the Seattle Symphony.
There was little doubt my tears would flow. Here’s the backstory.
Dinner plates had been cleared from the dining room table one night when I was 13. While other family members bolted to watch TV, Mom and I didn’t join them. She chose not to blow out the candles on the table and instead reached into the stereo cabinet for the LP featuring Rachmaninov’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.”
Like most pubescent teenagers, I rolled my eyes at the thought of listening to classical music. We quietly talked about our day over her coffee and my favorite cup of tea until the “Rhapsody” melody began. Then Mom looked at me—her eyes welling up—as the tender music prompted both of us to lose ourselves in tears. This became a special bond between us. Every month or two, we would clear the dinner table, keep the candles lit, chat for a while, put on “Rhapsody,” and share a good cry.
In 1965, Mom died of cancer at age 49. I was 17. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to that popular Rachmaninov piece in the decades that followed. If I’d hear it introduced on the radio or in some chintzy TV ad, I’d change stations.
It wasn’t until I was 70 and discovered the Seattle Symphony would feature “Rhapsody” that I knew I was ready to experience a live performance by a distinguished pianist.
As Hough brought the music to life, I noticed more than his stellar performance. There were other teary-eyed, modest sniffles heard ’round the concert hall. Perhaps because I’d only ever listened to “Rhapsody” on a crackly old LP, I had no clue anyone else in the audience might be moved to weep.
I later learned that in 1872 British scientist Charles Darwin, famous for his evolutionary studies, also wrote about the emotional power of music.
“Several of our strongest emotions—grief, great joy, and sympathy—lead to the free secretion of tears,” Darwin said, as he described music’s effect on humanity.
I recognized how susceptible I’ve become to music and how it propels and motivates me today when I take part in exercise, cooking, writing, and more.
An article in a recent issue of AARP Bulletin describes how modern-day research explores music’s potential to improve lives. Julene Johnson, a cognitive neuroscientist at the Institute for Health and Aging at the University of California, San Francisco, said we’ve known for centuries about music’s health benefits.
“But there’s more to learn,” Johnson noted. “NIH (National Institutes of Health) just launched a five-year research project to accelerate studies on music and dementia.”
When Hough’s Seattle performance ended and my spirits soared, I began to think how “Rach Pag”—as Hough likes to describe it—could trigger tears for any number of reasons. That prompted me to send the pianist an email with my tale.
“Thank you so much for sharing that sad but heartwarming story,” Hough responded. “Actually, I’ve not had any similar stories shared with me, but I am conscious whenever I play that variation that a sort of common sigh runs through the audience.”
Now when I think of “Rach Pag,” I imagine Rachmaninov who, according to Hough, composed this major work in 1934 at his lakeside villa in Lucerne.
A romantic setting for the creation of Rachmaninov’s heartfelt music would have made my mother smile. And the live performance? It was a concert that revitalized sweet memories and love of the mother I lost more than half a century ago.
Annie Culver developed a knack for unearthing oddball characters and improbable events as a staff writer for various newspapers. In the early 90s, she went to work for websites where she wrote sassy essays aimed at women. In recent years, she morphed into a writer for several universities in the Northwest. She retired in 2016, yet still enjoys freelancing.