Yesterday, with the "perfect storm" raging outside, we got to sing Beethoven's ninth symphony in D minor for, what is probably to be, the last time. Whenever I get to sing this piece I always remember the endless rehearsals, how high-pitched it is for us all and what sore throats we had after the intensive rehearsal weekend in Miraflores. However, when the orchestra gets to play the final part, with the frenzy of the beating of the kettledrums, a feeling of fulfillment invades us all and makes us want to jump out of our places. It is then that we realise that it's been worth all the struggle and we really appreciate the beauty of the ninth. We can raise our heads high and say to ourselves: "We were part of the magic, each one of us has contributed our grain of sand to make the music unravel and get to the ears and hearts of all present".
Some music gets to survive all ages. No matter how much times and musical tastes change, Beethoven's last symphony will always be loved. Some will like it because it's socially imposed, while others will appreciate the beauty hidden behind each quaver. Some will sing along with the worldwide famous rhythm of "Freude schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium!", while others will actually understand the lyrics of Friedrich von Schiller's poem "An die Freude", strange as they are (take for example the sentence: "Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben und der Cherub steht vor Gott" which in English would be something like: "Pleasure/Lust was given to the worm and to the cherub the contemplation of God").
Even though people don't applaud overjoyed between movements anymore (as was the case of the premiere) and Beethoven himself will never conduct this piece again, his essence will live through the ages combined with Schiller's words of joy every time and place his music is played.
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