The many reasons I love The Proms

If there’s one thing to remind you that life isn’t long enough it’s classical music. So many composers, such little time. Not that that stops me trying to listen to as many pieces as possible. Sadly classical music often faces charges of elitism, understandable considering the extravagant cost of concert tickets. Which is one of many reasons I love The Proms. For three months every year the Albert Hall, amongst other venues, showcases a staggeringly wide variety of music. And not only is every concert broadcast and recorded, but tickets are available at refreshingly affordable prices, making the music accessible to anyone just as Henry Wood originally intended.

Ever since its inception in 1895 the Proms has aimed at as wide an audience as possible. This has led to concerts featuring popular music, which though criticised, are intended to attract an otherwise indifferent public. And if some of the uninitiated then decide to go beyond their comfort zone and listen to unfamiliar composers then the policy has succeeded. This year I myself had a number of serendipitous encounters. After a lifetime of incomprehension the joys of Liszt were finally unlocked to me. I was disturbingly thrilled by Prokofiev’s demonic Seven, They are Seven for the first time. I listened to entirety of Dvorak’s 8^th Symphony, appreciating the genius of the other movements besides the adagio. Even Monteverdi’s Vespers, one of my favourite pieces of music and in my opinion one of the greatest achievements of the European musical canon, featured plainchant antiphons I had never heard previously. Even with my own musical background I still find The Proms studded with moments of discovery. For those with little knowledge of classical music, it must be like entering a vast new universe.

And for anyone who accuses classical music of being boring and stuffy, they should have seen me after Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. Never have I been so moved by a performance, classical or otherwise. After standing up and applauding for ten minutes I floated out of the Albert Hall, gliding towards South Kensington Tube Station. All along Exhibition Road I hummed the theme to myself, blissfully unaware of the odd looks being directed at me. Entering the station a woman behind joined in, and laughing I remarked that I knew where she had been earlier. Rarely in my life have I felt such joie de vivre as leaving that concert, and anything which leaves such spontaneous happiness deserves celebrating.