NOVEMBER 10, 2025 – Yesterday I partook in one of life’s great pleasures—in the pleasant company of our 10-year old granddaughter, attending a concert of masterpieces performed by world class musicians. It was somewhat of a last-minute operation. One of my sisters had asked me Thursday if I’d be interested in joining her and our sister Elsa and brother-in-law Chuck for a Friday matinee version of yesterday’s concert. I was unable to attend, but when I saw the centerpiece of the program—Violin Concerto No. 3 in b minor by Camille Saint-Saëns performed by SPCO star, Eunice Kim—I hatched an idea: how about grabbing tickets for Sunday afternoon, and taking Illiana!
Of the 100-mile-wide repertoire for the violin, “the Saint-Saëns” occupies a special place within my 25-mile-wide band of familiarity within that repertoire. Though I’ve never studied the concerto, I’ve heard the piece so many times I have it pretty well memorized. My exposure to it dates back to my childhood when a recording by Zino Francescatti received lots of play time in our house (See https://writemakesmight.net/zino/ ).
I grew most familiar with the Saint-Saëns, however, when my sister Elsa was studying it as a 17-year-old. She played it for the annual student concerto competition at Interlochen Arts Academy, where she (and later Jenny and I) attended high school. Few people possessed her level of talent or discipline. When she applied that combination to the Saint-Saëns, she was one of the three winners. The prize was getting to perform the first movement with the IAA Orchestra. While we were at home the preceding summer, I got to hear many practice hours of the Saint-Saëns, and with that exposure I became extremely fond of the piece—played as it was by a resident virtuoso.
Ironically, my affinity for the piece developed when I was preparing to ship off to school in Vermont—in happy escape from my own violin and pitched-battles with my parents over practicing the damned thing. With notable exceptions such as the Saint-Saëns, my open war against practicing the violin spilled over to an aversion for my family’s infatuated immersion in classical music. But as reported on this blog over the years, once I was “free of the fiddle,” I developed a deep appreciation for classical music—on my own terms—and a longing for the violin.
Early on the Saturday morning after my late-night return home from Vermont for Christmas vacation, I stole downstairs to the living room and put on a recording of Arthur Grumiaux playing the Saint-Saëns. No one else in the family was up yet, and thus, I figured, I’d be allowed to listen to the piece without distraction.
Just a few phrases into the concerto, however, Dad in his PJs and robe came down the stairs, entered the living room, and asked, “Who put that on?”
“I did,” I said.
“You did?” He was incredulous, and truth be told, so was I.
I recounted all this to Illiana as we drove to the Ted Mann Concert Hall on the West Bank of the University of Minnesota, site of yesterday’s performance. My stories were accompanied by a recording of Julia Fischer performing the concerto—thanks to YouTube, Bluetooth, and my car speakers. I don’t know how this might’ve registered with Illiana, but after I’d closed with yet another restatement that the Saint-Saëns was one of my favorite pieces, she said, “I like classical music, but I also like pop music as long as its melodic. I don’t like loud rock music.”
Her words were music to my ears. “I’m with you, Illiana,” I said with a smile, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of my hand.
Illiana was dressed to the nines and her hair done up with great taste and verve—a testament to her mother’s skill and talent for such things. She was by far and away the best dressed member of the packed-house hall[1]. I was glad that I myself had opted for something more formal and presentable than denim, canvas, down, and a baseball cap: dress shoes, proper trousers, a buttoned-down dress shirt, blazer, winter overcoat, and tweed flat cap, all of which rendered me the second-best dressed member of the audience. In the spirit of full disclosure, however, I had very little competition. Given the icy wind and unseasonably cold temperatures outside the concert hall, people were dressed for comfort, not style points. Jeans, sweaters, wool caps, down jackets, and sturdy running or even hiking shoes were the order of the afternoon among the graying and bookish (they seemed to me) but pragmatic crowd.
I told Illiana that she looked great in her nice clothes and with her hair done-up (but not overly so, for a 10-year-old). She responded with a sweet-toned “Thank you.” After visiting with several acquaintances we encountered but whom I hadn’t seen in a while, Illiana and I found our seats on the violin side of the main floor about two-thirds of the way toward the back. They turned out to be excellent for sound and sight lines alike.
The first piece comprised a series of short dances by Jean Françaix, Les Malheures de Sophie (“The Misfortunes of Sophie”), based on a popular children’s novel of the late 19th century. This was a fun and delectable appetizer before the entrée, the Saint-Saëns.
Dressed in a bright green gown, Eunice Kim, a veteran violinist with the SPCO, connected immediately with her fans, her audience. Standing in place of a conductor, she took charge of the stage, and in the familiar opening statement of the first movement of the concerto, marked allegro non troppo and played appassionato, she demonstrated her complete command of the work, both in technique and musicality. Time stood still as Eunice delivered the rest of the movement past every expectation I’d had for the performance. Her sound, runs, control, entrances, articulation, intonation, bow arm, left hand—all were of the highest caliber. Likewise, the orchestra, with ensemble matching the soloist wonderfully. Knowing that Illiana was hearing it too, sitting right beside me, added to my great satisfaction with life in that time and place. When the audience disregarded convention and applauded after the first movement, I was almost ready to join in, but only for the sake of slavish adherence to tradition did I refrain.
Ahead of the gorgeously lyrical second movement, I leaned toward Illiana and whispered, “Listen to this!” As the words fluttered out of my mouth, I thought of Dad and how often he’d uttered that phrase to me. Again, Eunice showed that her musical side is equal to her technical command of the violin—and the Saint-Saëns.
Then came the hard-charging third movement, which moves like the wind but also slows long enough to echo the beauty of the second movement. The music carried away all cares. Before the final chords, the woman on my right held up her hands about a foot apart, ready to applaud. I knew what was coming: in the land of the standing ovation, this crowd wouldn’t wait for the last sound from stage to fade; they’d be on their feet before the piece was finished. And they were—as was I.
Intermission followed. At the outset I gave Illiana the complete freedom to bail. “What’s next?” she asked. –“Beethoven’s first symphony.” –“Okay, let’s stay.”
Bingo!
Again, once the audience had regained their seats, the SPCO delivered the dessert tray from Vienna’s leading konditorei: Beethoven’s Musical Bakeshop. It was a perfect introduction to the Titan’s symphonic works—relatively short and very accessible; early Beethoven but with strong hints of revolution that would color his later works. Best of all, Illiana took in the piece from start to finish, giving her a cumulative listening time of nearly an hour and a quarter—without fussing, yawning, or asking once, “Is it almost over?” or “Can we leave now?”
As I delighted in the music, I felt immense gratitude for the opportunity to partake in such a wonderful concert featuring such great works and in the company of Illiana. She’s proved herself an appreciative audience member and great concert companion. Who knew that life could be so grand!
Today while ferrying Illiana home after her online art classes at our house, I reflected aloud about yesterday’s concert experience and expressed how my older self is becoming much more aware of things I used to take for granted. “Something happens, Illiana,” I said, “when you get older. You see things in a different light, and you find that you are so much more . . . what shall I say . . . so much more . . .”
“Grateful?”
“Exactly, Illiana! More grateful.”
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
[1] The youngest, as well—the only young person to be seen. As I later joked, the average age of the audience members looked to be about 77.5, including a 25-minute per person reduction taking Illiana’s age into account.
