The air is cold and dry, with the threat of oncoming snow. It’s still early in the season—not winter quite yet, if we’re being technical—so the prospect of snow is still fun, in the ignorance of not knowing what’s to approach in mere months. But on this December afternoon, you brave the potential storm to drive to a church you’d never been to before, for a concert by a group you didn’t know existed until recently. Because who knew there was a gamer orchestra in Jersey? Who even knew gamer orchestras were a thing?
You arrive early (because that’s what concert-goers do), greeted by a smiling face behind a bake sale table. Or maybe you’re too early, because black-clad musicians are scurrying past with all variants of instruments and equipment. But the sanctuary doors are open, and there’s gentle piano music wafting from within, so you accept a program and find a seat inside.
(Some “backstage” shenanigans, which you can very obviously see across the room)
What’s the deal with this “gamer orchestra” thing, anyway? And how will this be any different from a “normal” concert? (Excuse you. I resent this line of questioning.)
Truthfully, its not that different from other orchestra concerts. You flip through the program, and pull up the program notes online. It’s cool, because you know this stuff. You’ve played these games, or they’re on your endless “to play” list. But when the conductor comes forth, and the group sweeps into the first piece, you begin to understand that this isn’t like any other concert. These talented musicians aren’t just there to entertain. You’re all part of an experience, a love of both music and gaming, one that you share together.
(This is a little intimidating. These guys are like celebrities, right? But you’ll still talk to them after the concert, because they’re cool and they’re nerds just like you.)
As the music plays, you remember so clearly that one part in that one game. There’s a wave of mixed emotions, from joy to panic to nostalgia. You remember questioning shady witnesses in anime lawyer court, and clashing weapons with Gilgamesh on the big bridge. You enthusiastically applause between songs, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by the group before you—they all look around, grinning, overjoyed to be sharing this experience.
(Look how happy they are)
Maybe that’s part of the difference, too: These are not super-serious musicians. Most of them aren’t even professional. They smile between pieces, whisper to each other, or offer a little high-five they think the audience can’t see. Even the conductor is dancing, cracking jokes when introducing the next song, and there’s a companionship in that room. You wonder if they’re accepting new musicians. You played in high school, too. (The answer is “yes.”)
Spring seems an awfully long time to wait for the next performance, but the months pass quickly. May 12th rapidly approaches, bringing another glorious Saturday afternoon of music. And this time, there will be no snow to battle on the drive home. Although maybe with the nicer weather, you’ll get there even earlier to battle for prime seating instead.