However, the city did seem to be donning the colours of Chopin in the most bizarre of ways. You know that feeling of fraternity when you are going to see your team in the play-offs and you start seeing other fans coming out of the woodwork, wearing your team’s jerseys and custom scarves? Well, only once was I lucky enough to see the auditions live, after fighting in frenzy the ruthless website servers one day when a small chunk of extra tickets was released.
On my way to the Warsaw Philharmonic, I spotted a man on the tram wearing a facemask and carrying a tote bag, both adorned with Fryderyk Chopin’s profile drawing. Some other passengers were squeezing thick programme books in their hands, leafing through them from time to time in anticipation of the concert. We all got off at the same stop and like a small crowd of fans without an opposing team, we hurried on towards the concert hall.
Inside, the excitement was at its peak. Five minutes before 10am, a long line of people at the box office, waiting to snatch the last-minute passes, were frantically shifting from foot to foot while a stream of lucky ticket holders ran upstairs, like in fast motion, eager to take in all that beautiful liveness of Chopin’s music. Almost five hours of auditions went by fast, only ascertaining my conviction that nocturnes and sonatas have a lot to do with somber weather and autumnal storms.
During the intermission, a couple of youngsters shyly asked the jury members for autographs and photos. A few minutes later, I overheard one of the high school girls saying: ‘Well, if I work really hard. Like really, really hard and start playing the piano tomorrow, practice everyday from day to night, I can be one of the contestants next year and I will also perform on this stage in a beautiful dress, just like them, I’m telling you.’ – a declaration so heart-warming, there was no point in ruining those plans by reminding her that this competition is quinquennial.
Back at home, I acquired a strange set of new habits like yelling various things at the TV, depending on whose turn it was at the piano. Complaining, crying, laughing, clapping like a lunatic; Chopin fever at its best. Early on, together with my husband – because the fever was obviously contagious – we yelled a loud ‘BBRRRRUUUCCEEE!’ at the TV every time Bruce Liu of Canada started working his magic on the Fazioli piano. Weirdly enough, the fact that the competition was on in our household for three weeks almost non-stop, made us feel like we were on a first name basis with all the contestants.
Capturing the essence of Chopin