The lights dim, and Jeewon Park and Ignat Solzhenitsyn walk on the stage, smiling, but serious. The audience quiets, although the lady behind me sighs. "What a beautiful dress," she murmurs, and I grin. But as soon as the music starts, there is true silence, and all eyes look to the stage. I look around at the audience instead, and watch as faces young and old absorb the music. Some nod their heads slightly, others stare. The guy right in front of me waggled his head enthusiastically. One boy yawned, but we won't talk about him. My attention went back to the performers, and after less than half an hour, the Marches were over. The pianists held the silence for a moment, and then broke out into huge smiles. They looked relieved and joyful all at once, and just seeing their faces made me smile too. When they bow, Ignat looks so young, so pleased and proud, almost embarrassed. The music transforms him, I think. And it's true, the music does transform him. Along with everyone else.