There are events and distinguished celebrations, the very experiencing of which are worthy of praise and should be remembered.

It was no accident that Miklós Barabás left me out of his famous picture depicting the foundation stone of the Chain Bridge being laid. Nor could I be present when the Budapest Metro was inaugurated. I couldn't even see the Gellért Hotel being built – and Mátyás Rákosi never kissed my forehead.

In truth, I have only now become a witness to great times. I feel I can be proud to my dying days that I was present at the first public concert at the new National Concert Hall.

I have already answered the major question: I'm sure I'll love this hall and that I'll be happy to come here for concerts, but during the planning and building stages, serious expectations and doubts bubbled up. Naturally this preoccupied me even as I was getting ready for this concert – as I'm sure it did everyone. Just how would it compare to our “dear home”, the Music Academy?

The Palace of Arts! Let's say that they might have spent a little more time considering its name. It has the aroma of socialist realism about it. I can imagine something similar for public buildings in towns named after Stalin. I like the building itself, but at first glance, its dimensions and proportions cannot be grasped. It is a vast block, full of  momentous details that break the form. Disturbing? Exciting? Actually it doesn't matter: at least it is not boring.

It won't be so easy to reach by public transport as the Academy. After a particularly stirring concert, I am only too happy to round off the evening by walking a few tram stops along the Inner Ring. The idea of walking along Soroksári road to Boráros Square is not so appealing. Nor is heading in the other direction towards the abattoir. If I want to set off quickly to my home in South Buda, then I can wait up on the bridge in the wind for the 103 bus which comes every 30 minutes.

If we arrive by car, then the situation is rather different. We can drive from Nagymező Street to Klauzál Square numerous times before finding a parking space, or else some wasteland full of stones or a rather more expensive multi-storey car park. There are a plenty of both in the area but mostly several corners away, precisely enough distance to get thoroughly soaked in winter slush. As for the Palace of Arts, of course there are serious car parks in the area surrounding the National Theatre, but if it is sleeting and we don't want to wind a Macintosh over our smoking jackets, then all we need to is roll down to the three storey underground parking directly placed beneath the concert hall. We can then step directly from the heated car to the lift.

We then find time to look and poke around. We arrived early to be safe, calculating that perhaps not everything would be working smoothly, but we immediately found the information desk, the cloakroom, the buffet and of course the hall itself. We experienced problems with everything else. Nothing is symmetrical: we tried do map out the labyrinth of nooks and crannies, bridges, stair wells and passage ways. It would seem everyone else was doing the same. Half an hour before the concert there were vast crowds drifting all over the place. There were some familiar faces from other concert halls, and of course, faces familiar from other walks of life in large numbers. In front of the main entrance a commando unit of photographers assembled awaiting the celebrities to show themselves and they weren't disappointed. Everyone was here.

Many hostesses were helping although to look at them, they also appeared to be on a learning curve. Which is the side balcony and which floor is which? Is the inscription saying “podium balcony” etched into the glass panel the same thing as the “theatre balcony” printed on the ticket? What does the pass for the second row of the balcony signify since there is only one row there? Although we could hear the murmurings of the audience looking for their seats, the hall itself has its own voice: its space is larger.

As to how the famous acoustic planners have worked, how concerts will sound, perhaps this can only be judged were I to sit just about everywhere – like I have at the Academy. What is it like in the final rows of the ground floor, under the balcony? What is it like in the most distance seats above?

From where I was sitting it was good, actually very good. Although my wife didn't speak during the music, at the first sounds she gave me the thumbs up signal with a smile, and then in the interval translated this simple gesture into the language of secondary schools: “Cool!”

And how was the concert, which incidentally, also took place?
Let us say that it was simply excellent.

It was a superb idea – which also points to excellent taste and musicality – that they decided not assail this large podium which will finally accommodate the largest ensembles with, let's say, Mahler's Eighth. Instead we heard familiar and friendly, but no less demanding Mozart, enabling the musicians to test themselves and of course the hall with a minimally sized symphony orchestra.

Of the soloists, I felt that in the first half of the concert Andrea Rost was not entirely in fine voice. She still sang superbly, perhaps it was only betrayed by the “artificial” voice production. Or maybe she is one of those who needs time to warm up for in the second half of the concert, in her final piece, the concert aria Bella mia fiamma she was uniquely beautiful. Barnabás Kelemen similarly alternated, but in his case it was in the C major Rondo K373 which he played second where I sensed a slight uncertainty in intonation. Anita Szabó played a single solo – gorgeously – and I also liked the sound of László Gál's horn.

As for the National Philharmonic Orchestra, I will only say that from the first note, we were shaken and were immediately inclined to attribute this experience to the transparent acoustic of the new concert hall. Then it became clear that the venue was not enough for all this. The ensemble simply sounded good. The first work of the first half of the performance, in other words, the first work to be played to an audience at the National Concert Hall, was the “Little” G minor Symphony. In the ensuing decades, anyone can give superb concerts here anytime, this inaugural performance will be their equal. (The oboe solo was like a dream.)

The final work was the Symphony in G minor K550 and I would like to talk separately about the slow movement. It is a very popular piece but so far, I have never heard it more profound, complete or beautiful on any recording or at any other concert. If someone were to tell me that I will never hear it like this again, then fine. It was perfect as it was.

It was a shame that concentration in the final movement lapsed perceptibly and the tempo they risked did not really come off. The uneven entry was forgivable and when the inner melody hidden in the figurations sparkling virtuosically in the rush, it seemed that something unparalleled was happening. Then some asyncope smeared this immanent melody. And so in the end, the final was only “well done”.

On the way  home, there is time to reflect although the queue in the cloakroom dwindled rapidly. Down on car park storey “minus 3”, the stranded line of cars was initially frightening but as the attendants began to direct the drivers upwards and the “jam” eased, a few minutes later we found ourselves on Lágymányosi Bridge on the way home.

This then was the first concert of the “trial period” and if I wanted to joke, I could ask what will it be like when they are doing it for real?
I hope we will be able to attend many fine concerts here.

But will the National Concert Hall ever be as homely and intimately friendly as the Music Academy? For me, perhaps not but then I have grown up on musical experiences there. But for my grandchildren, it is possible that the National Concert Hall will become an august and loved home. Will it be though? I hope we can write and read the answer in Café Momus in a hundred year's time!

István Dauner Nagy
(Café Momus, January 10, 2005)