Heading up the slope to Bailey Hall, the only thought in my mind was “Is this really worth the climb?” Perhaps that makes me a bit of a philistine. After all, it was a free ticket to see Emmanuel Ax– a well-known classical pianist. I’ve just never had any pull towards the sound of Mozart, Beethoven, and others. To be frank, Mozart and Beethoven are the only two composers I can name off the top of my head. My musical education may have been pretty pathetic, but I hadn’t found a reason to regret it until that Friday. Sitting in the hushed audience, I began to fidget as Emmanuel Ax laid his fingers on the keys. I could see the emotion on his face, could hear the rise and fall of the music, could appreciate the technical skill in his hand movements. However, for all the dramatic lifting of his hands before he crashed them down on the keys, for all the deep concentration in his furrowed brow, I never found myself absorbed in the actual piece. It was certainly not a reflection on his own skill–from the audience’s overly enthusiastic response, clearly the man was amazing– but it was a clear, painful image of my ignorance of all things musical. As the performance drew to a close and the audience poured out of the hall and into the darkness, I found myself strangely dazed. I had been unable to understand his art. Even when surrounded by the roar of a clapping audience, my mind was numbed and silent as it had been when Emmanuel Ax had bled music into the air.