pearls before breakfast

here is a pulitzer prize-winning article that you absolutely must read, if you haven't already (thanks, s!). it's an experiment run by washington post, where they had joshua bell - the famous and acclaimed violinist - perform incognito at the l'enfant plaza metro station in d.c. what do you think happened? how do you think the 1,097 metro commuters would have reacted to a musician so great performing a few feet away from them, for 45 minutes, some of the hardest works of all time? read the article to find out. and if you don't read my reflections below until you have, you'll enjoy the article way more :).

idealist that i am (perhaps naive is a better word), i was tempted to think that a crowd would have gathered. that people would have unknowingly experienced the high that comes from listening to music deep within. that the sound of music would win over everything else. i am sad that i was mistaken, but this article was an enlightening read, for it made me stop and think for a moment about the things i might be missing in life. music, however, is not one of those things, i have to say (phew). no matter where i hear it, my heart feels the vibes. i stop and listen. i stand and stare. but there is nature's beauty that i so often miss. for instance, i completely missed the transition from fall leaves to spring leaves on the trees i pass by as i walk to school. anyway, here are some excerpts:

Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

What is beauty? Is it a measurable fact (Gottfried Leibniz), or merely an opinion (David Hume), or is it a little of each, colored by the immediate state of mind of the observer (Immanuel Kant)?

"When you play for ticket-holders," Bell explains, "you are already validated. I have no sense that I need to be accepted. I'm already accepted. Here, there was this thought: What if they don't like me? What if they resent my presence . . ."

Leithauser's point is that we shouldn't be too ready to label the Metro passersby unsophisticated boobs. Context matters.

The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother's heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too.

Watching the video weeks later, Bell finds himself mystified by one thing only. He understands why he's not drawing a crowd, in the rush of a morning workday. But: "I'm surprised at the number of people who don't pay attention at all, as if I'm invisible. Because, you know what? I'm makin' a lot of noise!"

There's nothing wrong with Myint's hearing. He had buds in his ear. He was listening to his iPod. For many of us, the explosion in technology has perversely limited, not expanded, our exposure to new experiences. Increasingly, we get our news from sources that think as we already do. And with iPods, we hear what we already know; we program our own playlists. The song that Calvin Myint was listening to was "Just Like Heaven," by the British rock band The Cure. It's a terrific song, actually. The meaning is a little opaque, and the Web is filled with earnest efforts to deconstruct it. Many are far-fetched, but some are right on point: It's about a tragic emotional disconnect. A man has found the woman of his dreams but can't express the depth of his feeling for her until she's gone. It's about failing to see the beauty of what's plainly in front of your eyes.

He was too loud, too, Souza says. Then she looks down at her rag, sniffs. She hates to say anything positive about these damned musicians, but: "He was pretty good, that guy. It was the first time I didn't call the police."

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
-- "Leisure," by W.H. Davies

"Koyaanisqatsi" is a Hopi word. It means "life out of balance."

If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?

Of course, Davies had an advantage -- an advantage of perception. He wasn't a tradesman or a laborer or a bureaucrat or a consultant or a policy analyst or a labor lawyer or a program manager. He was a hobo.

"No. If you love something but choose not to do it professionally, it's not a waste. Because, you know, you still have it. You have it forever."