I know why.
We debated about buying the tickets for two or three days. On the day of the show, we agreed we’d ride up to Beaver Creek to see what tickets were left but generally thought they were too expensive. After eating lunch at our favorite, genuine Mexican restaurant that serves great posole and white jalapeno sauce, a midday torpor set in that demanded an afternoon nap. We would skip checking on tickets and head back to the condo.
However, when we reached the Hiway 6 entrance to Beaver Creek, I didn't know why but turned and headed up the mountain past the lush golf course toward the village area. We parked and took the elevator up and then rode an escalator down to the Vilar Center. (Yes elevator up and escalator down.) The small performing arts center that brings nearly two hundred nights of entertainment to the area each year is built under the Beaver Creek plaza. The cost of the facility was largely donated by Alberto Vilar. Mr. Vilar is a Cuban-American who became extremely wealthy and donated generously to the arts, particularly opera. He was also convicted of money laundering in 2008. There were even allegations that his illegal activities were committed to support his philanthropy. Wonder why?
The facility is an intimate theater with interior finishes mostly constructed from native pine interlaced with fabric walls to make the acoustic quality pure for each of the 530 seats. The pine has the lustrous warmth of soft umber and reflects sound with a quality like a soft focus lens - crisp in the center and mellow around the edges. I wonder why that works. The lady in the box office was extremely welcoming and helpful and indicated that a few seats remained near the back but we still couldn't, or wouldn't, decide to attend.
The featured performer was k. d. lang. We each knew one or two of her songs but couldn’t be classified as devotees. She is Canadian, sang Hallelujah at the last Winter Olympics, is an outspoken gay rights advocate and has a haunting voice that seemed to have been created to sing ballads meant to evoke memories. Still ambivalent, we decided to get the tickets and quickly head back to the condo for that nap. We still weren't certain why.
Arriving at the center just in time for a glass of Chilean wine, we headed to our seats. Yes they were near the back of the auditorium but in a space this small, we could see every facial expression and could watch every droplet of sweat fly from the faces of the singers and musicians. Lera Lynn, a young performer who just arrived from London, opened the show. She sang for about a half hour - mostly songs she had written. The standing ovation for an opening act was genuine because she did not have celebrity status. Her expression and the gratitude of her accompanists included the question "why this time" in their eyes
The break afforded time for another glass of wine and some purposeful people watching. Here, in one of the most affluent places in the world, there was an air about many of the local patrons. They embodied the easy banter of people who have been mostly unaffected by the recent economic travails - in fact, many have probably increased their wealth during the time that most have struggled. Some folks were tourists who debated about how to spend their vacation hours and finally chose this concert as worthy of the time and cost. There was a contingent of the audience who came to support k. d. lang’s political agenda. And in a few seats there were lang groupies - in fact, the couple next to me had driven from Lawton, Oklahoma (about 740 miles) for the sole purpose of attending this concert. I questioned why.
Her concert was a concerto for instrument and voice. The words in song reflected an examined life, a search for answers for the song-writer, the singer and, because of the skill of those two, for most of those who showed up to watch. Other than overworking the encore process, the mood built gracefully and answers were shrouded in subtlety. The crowd responded. Faces lit in the reflected glow of stage lights carried new expressions as answers rose with the music and words brought forth our major falls and minor lifts.
Being there was a gift. The gift was neither earned nor deserved. In an understated theater, surrounded by lush green grass and blooming flowers while the nation baked and suffered drought seemed sinful. The theatrical faces of success and failure were unmasked. The divide of politics gave way to harmony in song and applause. Watching is what happened. Watching, hearing, opening up and examining one’s life all happened in those three hours.
Why? It’s hard to see blessings and easy to take credit for fate.
--td