The first time I heard the Mendelssohn's Octet for Strings I was on a date.
It wasn't just any date, it was a top-over-tea-kettle kind of a date. A swoony, feelalittlelightheadedwhenhehelpsyououtofthecar kind of date. I had asked him to accompany me to the chamber orchestra and then out for a martini. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to keep my palms from sweating, to say nothing of being able to pay any attention to the concert whatsoever. But he was a chamber music fan and I figured that the concert would keep him engrossed enough that I could spend the evening staring at him (he was just gorgeous) with impunity.
Like I said, top-over-tea-kettle.
Imagine my shock when, forty minutes after the orchestra had taken the stage, I tried to explode into applause only to realize that he had both of my hands in his. I had little recollection of reaching for him, even less of apparently holding my breath throughout the concert, and absolutely none of starting to cry and borrowing his handkerchief.
Five years later the guy is gone, but (and thanks to the SPCO) I can still hear the concert from that night. Despite not having a greek god of a man's hands to hold during it, I find that certain passages from it can still leave me holding my breath.
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