Early this year, it still looked like the monumental and striking Main Post Office on Utrecht's Neude would stay closed for good. There was even talk of a sale to a private individual who was going to build luxury flats in it, thus keeping the hall of the people, where many a Utrechtian once had her cash cheques silvered, would forever be hidden from view. Then you revive at such a message: "Take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a recumbent concert at such a striking location in Utrecht! Until the end of October 2015, the former Main Post Office at De Neude will be open to the public in its current form."
Canto Ostinato in such a place. Within half a minute, I was 70 euros lighter, with the prospect of a unique event that I would long remember.
Six months later, however, everything is different. The Post Office becomes Utrecht city's new library, there will be catering, meeting spaces and, yes, a few flats in the attic as well. Nothing last chance. Indeed: the hall will become the new pavilion for Utrecht's festivals. Like the Dutch Film Festival, which is already avidly using it this year. So except on Saturday 27 September, because then suddenly there were a hair hundred people on the ground, foot to head, around two wings. Yours truly and spouse included.
The lying concert was a tremendous turn-off. We can be brief about that. If anything there was clean, exciting and pronounced play by Sandra and Jeroen van Veen, that was lost in the pool acoustics of that huge Post Office hall. As a result, it also came across as routine. Those two pianists, who have had Simeon Ten Holt's masterpiece in their repertoire for several years, did not make contact with the audience. Is also difficult, of course, when all spectators are on one ear. The bridges were predictable, the volume changes mild, the music mainly meant for something else: not to disturb the sleepers too much. An occasional snore drowned out a gentle passage.
It turns out that these recumbent concerts are a tradition in their own right, with an audience all their own, where you can pick out the routines: people with exactly the right equipment, who come exclusively for the music and not for the location. Just like Four Day Walkers, walkers who come not for the surroundings, but for the kilometres. After all, as soon as the over-familiar first notes of Ten Holt's minimal music piece sound they go flat, lap over head, or with eyes rigidly closed. After all, why look? Music is what you do with your eyes closed.
I actually came for the venue, the music and the shared experience with all those spectators who - I thus wrongly suspected - had pulled out their camping mats for the same reason. Reality was stiffer than at a gala at the Concertgebouw. Suddenly, those white clothes of the piano duo began to irritate me immensely. It was too smooth, too incrowd, too sweet, too commercial.
The biggest loser was the venue itself. Perhaps beyond the control of the recumbent concert organisation, we had to make do with the lighting plan laid out for the Dutch Film Festival. That lighting plan consisted of rather clumsy cut-off spots on a few arches, some red lights on details, and a single running light. You couldn't really see any of the beautiful details in that gigantic arch roof. And that's kind of what we had come for. Blockheads that we were. The light changes and darkness, combined with the acoustics, made this recumbent concert something you could really only endure with your eyes closed and earplugs in.
Incidentally, you can verify or disprove my view at the two additional concerts scheduled at 17 and 18 October. I look forward to hearing your response.
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