Music Enchantment

A small girl sat quietly in the front row of the balcony, wearing her shabby Sunday best. Around her, her third-grade classmates poked each other and squirmed in their seats, but she gazed in amazement at the scene before her. Elaborate crimson velvet drapes covered the walls, and a plush red carpet led to rows of soft seats. Suddenly, the curtains rose to reveal an orchestra seated with their instruments. The women were dressed in black, and the men wore tuxedos. The girl was mesmerized.

Suddenly, the conductor emerged from backstage to applause. He bowed to the audience of public school children and their frazzled teachers. Silently, he raised his baton, and the sound exploded as the musicians played “Flight of the Bumblebee.” The girl’s entire body pulsed with the magical buzzing sound. Seventy years later, she still remembers the name of that piece and the “1812 Overture.” It was the very first experience of beauty she had encountered in her seven years. That little girl was me. Somehow, this event imprinted music into my soul.

Growing up in poverty, we never had a TV, and the boxy Emerson radio was only turned on for baseball games or occasionally to listen to “The Shadow.” When we moved from Seattle to Mississippi, a battered radio followed us around until it was just a shell, and to get it to play, the tubes had to be jiggled. To my delight, every day there was a time when the station played rock and roll, sandwiched between lists of who was in the hospital, the farm reports, and endless advertisements.

In eighth grade, our little school introduced band as a class, and my grandfather paid the rental fee for all our instruments. I started on the trumpet but soon switched to the mellophone, a small version of the French horn. Used band uniforms were purchased, and somehow everyone found one that fit, at least somewhat. We were terrible, but we were unfazed because we got to play at all the football games, and we especially loved it when we went to an “away game.” It was at those games that we saw how outclassed we were. Despite our lack of training, I loved playing music, and when we performed at games and the yearly concert, it was exhilarating.

Music was always on in my car and at home. I knew all the lyrics and would sing at the top of my lungs while driving or cleaning. At sad points in my life, some songs would bring tears to my eyes; at other times, darkness enveloped me as I wondered why I didn’t have all the love portrayed in the songs. On lighter days, I still dance to my favorite tunes. In my early twenties, I attended the local symphony and found myself once again transported to a magical place where reality seemed to slip away.

My playlists are full of every type of music, including classical. But when I retired in 2017, I had time to explore more. Then I heard Andrea Bocelli, and I was swept away. There are no words to describe the euphoria I feel as his voice soars. It doesn’t matter that much of his repertoire is in Italian and I don’t look up the lyrics—his tenor is a balm to my soul.

During my teaching career, I often found myself substituting in classes, and a few times I ended up in a senior art class. Unlike my own students, they entered quietly and immediately went to work on their pieces. Plugging in their earphones, they began creating beauty in silence. It was then I promised myself that I, too, could find such peace. Later, I spoke with the art teacher, who suggested I come during a free period and give it a try. Embarrassed, I declined but promised myself I’d find an art teacher. After several failed attempts, I saw a poster for a watercolor class for beginners. That’s when I met Gabriel, a real art teacher.

Gabriel’s studio was up a flight of stairs to a bright, sunlit room, and the class was truly for beginners. Unlike previous attempts to join classes for those with little or no experience—where I found people far more advanced—this was the real start I needed.

The class lasted two hours: the first hour focused on techniques, and the second was dedicated to painting. At the start of the second half, Gabriel played Andrea Bocelli—his magical voice lifted my inhibitions, and I painted freely. This continued for over two years, and we always requested Bocelli, so art and music became inextricably linked. Classes were quiet except for Gabriel’s soft voice as he answered questions.

In early 2026, I was painting and listening to Andrea Bocelli when a sudden urge to hear him in person overcame me. I left my paints and searched for his upcoming concerts. There it was! He would be performing in Birmingham, AL, in early March. Without considering money or logistics, I booked tickets for myself and my sister Donna. Then I booked my flights. For the first time in a long, long time, I felt excited anticipation.

The concert venue held 17,000 people and was sold out. Attendees were dressed across the spectrum, symbolic of the reach of his powerful voice transcending social class. Long gowns, jewels, furs, and blue jeans were everywhere. Looking around, I felt like I had entered Aladdin’s cave, and the best was yet to come. This was Bocelli’s first concert in Birmingham, and excitement was palpable.

The house lights dimmed, the orchestra and chorus were faintly illuminated, and Bocelli walked to center stage to a roaring round of applause. To say the audience was captivated from the very first note is a gross understatement. At one point, the man behind me was so caught up in the music—his eyes must have been closed—that he was conducting, his hands repeatedly brushing my hair. All around me, people had tears in their eyes; the lady on the other side of my sister was visibly crying. Tears rolled down my cheeks during my favorite songs. Reviews of the concert proclaimed the power of his voice to transcend reality, transporting the audience to another realm of beauty. Critics commented that “Bocelli did not disappoint.”

So, the little girl who once sat transfixed in the balcony at the Seattle Symphony was fortunate enough, decades later, to see and experience Andrea Bocelli—a record-breaking star. It was more than I ever expected.