While attending a concert, you notice things: the performers' clothes, the cold draft on your neck, the speed at which the notes fly by. Sometimes the music is pleasant. Sometimes the musicians look excited. You sit. They play. You clap. You all go home. Many people think classical music is boring. Some people think classical music is relaxing, pretty, even interesting. We think classical music is exhilarating, heart-wrenching, and ultimately life-changing.

Music has often been compared to language. But perhaps a melody is more like a thought than a sentence. It has logic and order to it, but also a visceral, abstract meaning that communicates more subtly, more purely than words. When our trio rehearses, we play and sing and debate, phrase and rephrase, tell stories, describe emotions, demonstrate, imitate, experiment: make up words, make up sounds, make up meanings. We think about creating expectations, building and releasing tension, balancing unity and diversity, and evoking sensations that are not simply aural, but integrative, evocative, and moving.

So, after all of this preparation, we can't leave people to notice wardrobe, climate control, or merely speed. We want our performances to come alive so that the audience will notice more, feel more, and perhaps even live more.