The rhythm of Princeton

Princeton is brimming with accomplished musicians — concert pianists, seraphically voiced tenors, guitar-toting songwriters. From Sensamaya to the Tigertones, we've got a dazzling array of vibrant, organized, accomplished, world-touring groups, whose professional activities were recently bolstered by a huge gift to the University. But where is the spontaneity in the Princeton arts scene? Last weekend, I got a rare taste of what we're missing.

I was packed cheek-to-jowl in a Terrace crowd, stuffed between a strapping young jock and a tortured punk-rocker whose crimson mohawk would have put the manliest of roosters to shame. Wobbling awkwardly to the beat, I wiggled between my fellow sardines, straining to see the DJ, Girl Talk, playing beyond the row of heads bobbing in front of me. A subwoofer began to pound; I could feel my lungs and eardrums buzz in time with the pulsing bass line. I made a valiant attempt to dance by crooking my arms in front of me and doing little calf-raises in rapid succession ... sadly, the friction from the surrounding sardines overwhelmed my efforts. I soon tired, and contented myself with a rhythmic head-nod.

People began crowd-surfing as the DJ called out, "It feels good out here tonight — we play at a lot of colleges, but this is something else!" A collective cheer rose up as the beat resumed, and I realized that this was the first time I'd listened to music — communally, anyway — in weeks. In fact, I thought to myself, the Street is the only place on campus where a significant number of students gather with any regularity to experience music together.

I hear musicians practicing clandestinely everywhere — the strains of a violin concerto coil out of a dorm-room window as I walk to class in the morning, the bold chords of Chapel Choir tumble out of the chapel doors when I walk back from Firestone at night. A few days ago, a friend of mine sat down at the piano during a break in the rehearsal for the show we're in together and began to play; his fingers flittered over the keys weightlessly, filling the entire room with glowing sound.

It seems like Princeton's artistry is filled with fervor, talent and refined skill, but it goes unnoticed unless it finds an organized outlet with a purpose, such as a music theory class or singing group. We Princetonians are born and bred doers, living and accomplishing at an incredible pace. We only have time to explore our creativity if we schedule it in as an academic or regimented extracurricular pursuit. We funnel all our time and creative energy into University-associated activities and groups to produce breathtaking, inspired art. But sometimes this high level of accomplishment comes at a price — we devote ourselves so ardently to structured pursuits of art that we're sucked dry when it comes to impulsive, unplanned appreciation of those arts.

When I went to Terrace to see Girl Talk perform, most of the other clubs that night were empty. People had flocked to Terrace to listen to the DJ; everyone at the concert was astonished by the overwhelming number of students filling the club. When you consider the paucity of spontaneous art appreciation on this campus, the charged atmosphere and big crowd at the concert makes sense. We're thirsty for unstructured art. The crowds were drawn to Terrace by the promise of sharing music as a community, on the spur of the moment, with no other goal in mind than relishing the beauty of sound.

Why should enjoyment of the arts be so tightly concentrated in a few annual events and venues at Princeton? Why should we have to get our fill of art by scheduling in a concert weeks ahead of time? Arch sings are a cornerstone tradition here, and there's a reason why. It's almost magical, the experience of hearing — by word of mouth — about a late-night concert and suddenly deciding to drop by with some friends to get lost in the hum of voices reverberating off stone and dissipating into the night.

Let's surprise ourselves. Let's go to a choir concert, or an orchestra performance on a Thursday evening. Let's stop and listen to the Bach cello suite floating from an abandoned common room when we're walking back from late meal. If you play guitar, sit out on the lawn after class and pick a tune. Let's prioritize the arts, and not just in our day-planners. Let's make the appreciation of visual and musical beauty part of the rhythm of Princeton life. It's everywhere here; if you're thirsty for art, drink it in. If you're an artist, give someone else a sip. Becca Foresman is a freshman from Del Mar, CA. She can be reached at foresman@princeton.edu.