My night out at the Royal Albert Hall

Royal Albert Hall at night

I have never been a fan of classical music. Screaming guitar riffs and pounding drum solos have always taken precedence on my iPod over screechy violins and weeping cellos. And as I wait for my host for the evening I begin to regret ever accepting the invitation to sit through multiple hours of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, a performance to which I've been persuaded with an "extra ticket".


As she turns the corner a few dozen yards away, I catch the eye of my company for the night; a former co-worker from my college job at a clothing store that specializes in over-priced jeans and flashy crystal-studded shirts. On her arm is her new beau, a successful Hollywood special effects man and the gracious donor of the now-dreaded extra ticket. I hug my old friend and introduce myself to her hubby, thanking him through my teeth for having insisted that I join them. He asks if I ever enjoy classical in my spare time. I lie.


There is one detail of the night, however, that as we stroll towards our destination has me hopeful and excited that I may still enjoy myself: the venue.


"Have you ever been to the Albert Hall?", he asks me. I hadn't, despite an interest since I'd seen a documentary featuring the site in some forgotten period of my yet earlier youth. As I answer, the corner of my mouth curls up at my first distant view of the Hall as it emanates every bit of grandeur I had expected.


The Royal Albert Hall was the brain-child of Prince Albert after the 1851 Great Exhibition, held in Hyde Park, which prompted the Prince Consort to propose construction of new grounds to permanently exhibit the Arts and Sciences and educate the public. Sadly, Prince Albert died ten years before the Hall's completion and grand opening on 29 March, 1871.


The exterior design makes the building one of the most recognizable in London. The influence of Ancient Greek or Roman amphitheatres is immediately apparent in the work of the Hall's designers, civil engineers Captain Francis Fowke and Major-General Henry Y. D. Scott. Its elliptical body consists of Fareham Red brick and terra cotta. Around the building stretches a large mosaic frieze, illustrating various scenes titled "The Triumph of the Arts and Sciences"; the cause to which the Hall was commissioned.


Atop the stunning red building sits its most defining feature, a 41-metre-high glass and iron dome. At the time of construction in 1869, the roof was, "the largest of its kind ever to span an unsupported space".


While London school children popularly purport The Albert as the home to Hitler's, er... lost private part, the interior has served far greater purposes. The Albert has been home to performances from Rachmaninov to Led Zeppelin, from Wagner to Sinatra, from The Beatles to Jay-Z. It has housed
speeches from world leaders such as Her Majesty The Queen, Sir Winston Churchill, Nelson Mandela, and the Dalai Lama.


I step into the entrance hallway through Door 6, and maneuver through crowds of concert-goers and classical enthusiasts, most mingling at the bar and chatting over glasses of champagne and wine. The usher checks my ticket and points me through a doorway into the Hall.


I can't help but grin. It's stunning. I'm struck by a wave of deep red, every bit in keeping with the Hall's "Royal" title. The chairs in the first section of seating that surround the floor and stage are covered in rich scarlett velvet with aged golden frames. The private boxes are framed by scarlett drapes and white Ionic columns with scroll-shaped capitals resting at their tops. The sectioned seats wrap all the way around behind the stage and underneath the masterpiece of the room; the second largest organ in the British Isles, boasting 9,999 pipes.



At the height of the room, suspended from the roof, are a series of large discs, or "mushrooms", as they are commonly called. I think back to the documentary in an effort to recall their purpose. The discs had been installed in the late 1960s to remedy problems with the building's acoustics. The grand opening, nearly 100 years earlier, had revealed that the acoustics of the room had not been entirely thought through and the Hall was plagued by a noticeable echo.


As the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic take the stage, led by conductor Vasily Petrenko, stragglers shuffle into their respective rows. They murmur "thank you"s and flash insincere smiles to the early-birds who muddle their discontent at being removed from their chairs time and time again.


The stage comfortably houses the massive orchestra. My eyes adjust as the house lights dim, leaving only the spotlight to illuminate the orchestra in an electric blue, which contrasts the scarlett room beautifully. The orchestra begins and I'm delighted to discover that I recognize several of the opening pieces. I can't quite put a name to them until I'm later told, but the simple sense of familiarity fills me with a false sense of belonging at the event.


The music continues as Petrenko passionately conducts his orchestra and guest soloists enter and exit the stage at the behest of the cheering crowd. I couldn't care less, but I'm still entertained. Not by the orchestra, or Petrenko, or the series of FM Radio hosts emcee'ing the evening, but by the room itself. I feel part of something older than me. Bigger than me. Something truly royal.


The orchestra concludes the evening with Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture", cannons and all, and I bustle towards the exit with my hosts and the rest of the sold-out crowd. After a few extra moments of mingling, I thank my new and old friend and I head home, happy. Classical music may not have swept me off my feet, but a classic venue did.