Hello, friends. You’ve met me before, even if you didn’t know it at the time. I’m the one who lifts the baton when the lights go down at The Ellis. I’m in the pause before the first note, and I’m in the cheer when the drop finally lands. This month the artists have handed me the pen, so I’m stepping out from behind the music to talk with you directly.
November is my favorite movement of the year. Out here in the Hudson Valley, the trees have played their loudest colors and are letting the last leaves fall. The river turns steel gray by late afternoon, and the air has enough bite to make you walk a little faster toward somewhere warm. Every great symphony has a slow passage after the big crescendo, and I think of this season that way. The tempo eases and the room gets quieter, so you can finally hear yourself.
From where I stand, I get to watch the same small miracle night after night. A room fills with strangers who arrive one at a time, coats still on, a little unsure of themselves. Then a song comes on that someone loves, and they start to move. The person next to them moves too. By the third or fourth track the strangers have become an orchestra, and I never had to tell anyone where to stand. You all found your parts on your own, and watching it happen is my favorite thing in the world.
Winter is coming, and I won’t pretend the dark evenings are easy. The sun sets before five now, and staying home under a blanket is tempting. I understand the pull. I’ve also seen what happens when people choose to come out anyway. A cold night makes a warm room feel even better, and music shared in the middle of winter reminds you that you aren’t carrying the season alone.
This is also the month for gratitude, and I have plenty of it. I’m grateful for every artist who stepped into the booth this year and trusted this room with their sound. I’m grateful for the Newburgh neighbors who keep showing up, and for the first-timers who walk in curious and leave a little changed. You are the music I conduct. Without you I’d be waving a stick at an empty floor.
So here’s my invitation for the turning season. Slow down when the world asks you to. Look for the warm places and the people who keep them lit. When you find a room where the music makes you feel like yourself again, stay a while. I’ll be there like always, keeping time.
Until the next downbeat,
The Conductor of Life
The Maestro of The Ellis