This whole intercultural thing wouldn’t have even crossed my mind if, after a long evening of questionable decisions, I hadn’t somehow convinced my friends in Tehran to join me for a classical music concert — and to my utter shock, they all said yes! So, there I was, with a dozen Iranians and my rather rusty knowledge of music history, embarking on the impossible: introducing my dear friends to the high culture of the West, the refined and intricate world of Mozart, Beethoven, and Liszt, where violins and trumpets coexist like distant relatives at a family reunion. Two hours of immersion in a familiar yet foreign world, brought to life thousands of kilometers from my original home in Tehran. In Iran, a classical music concert holds the same value as a Depeche Mode or Queen concert did in 1980s Hungary—uncommon, uplifting, and full of excitement. Well, that all sounds good in theory, but what actually happened?
Most classical concerts in Tehran are held at Vahdat Hall, located in a busy part of the city center, not far from Ferdowsi Square. Originally built as an opera house, it was inaugurated during the Shah’s reign in 1967, inspired by the Vienna State Opera. At the time, it was one of the world’s most advanced opera houses, with cutting-edge acoustics and stage technology. Its seating capacity is identical to that of the Hungarian State Opera House. The venue saw its golden age until the 1979 revolution, hosting the most famous operas and ballets, as well as prominent guests like the Berlin and Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestras. After the revolution, while opera and ballet performances were suspended, the hall continued to host traditional Iranian performances and, occasionally, classical music concerts.
Now, back to the concert... I was relieved to see that my friends had dressed appropriately for the occasion and, thankfully, didn’t bombard me with tricky questions. Just to be safe—and because of the notorious latecomers—I scheduled a quick coffee before the concert, to avoid any dramatic entrances during the performance. Once everyone was gathered, we made our way to the venue. Entry was through two separate gates—men and women segregated—where, aside from checking tickets, women’s Islamic-compliant attire was also inspected. After surviving that process, we finally headed into the concert hall, where I found myself playing the role of a mother hen, herding 11 oversized chicks and making sure they didn’t wander off while snapping enough photos to fill a small gallery. The seating situation was quite amusing, as we managed to take up nearly half a row, but fortunately, everything went smoothly. As per Iranian custom, the concert started late, with the Tehran Symphony Orchestra performing classics by Bach and Mozart. Unlike what we’re used to, these performances typically run without intermissions, and this was no exception. They wrapped up the entire event in an hour and a half, which might seem short at first, but based on my experience, the audience couldn’t handle any more than that. And what do I mean by that? Well, after about half an hour, once the novelty wore off, most people reached for their phones. Boredom set in. And that’s when I started wondering: why? Why is it that I (and other European guests) sit through the entire concert in awe, wishing it lasted longer, while most of the audience eventually starts fidgeting?
Maybe it's because, in Hungary, families occasionally attend classical concerts or at least visit the local cultural center. In the best case, they might even send their children to music school or some extracurricular activity. But in any case, it's customary to instill respect for classical arts in children. Just as it's considered rude to interrupt someone while speaking, the same applies to paying attention to a performance. Interestingly, in the Middle East, great emphasis is placed on respect and politeness, but in practice, this often seems more like a facade than a reality. That's one part of the problem. The other is a broader issue, but it might be more noticeable in Tehran due to the city's vast size and its bustling, never-resting nature: just as the city never quiets down, most people can’t either. They can't fully immerse themselves in the moment and experience it. They're always thinking ahead to the next thing.
“How long will the pieces last?”
“Why isn’t there a pianist? It would be so much better if there was!”
“What should we do after the concert?”
These are the types of questions I got during the performance, and in the moment, I found it hard to understand their relevance.
Tehran is an interesting place because everything is more vibrant, the contrasts are greater, and the dynamics are heightened. There are countless gatherings, and people are more extroverted. On the surface, they seem friendlier, but underneath, they are more calculating. Some things happen much faster, while others move much slower than in Hungary. In the city, the extremely poor and the ultra-rich often mix. It's the capital of extremes, where finding a healthy balance is just as challenging as a pianist playing Liszt's La Campanella.
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