A couple of weeks ago I was in London for work, and one evening enjoyed a London Symphony Orchestra concert including Borodin’s second symphony. I was struck by the many twists of fate leading me to that particular moment.

Trying to broaden my musical taste

For most of my adult life, I’ve had periods when I try to expand the range of music I listen to. In the 2010s, one of the ways I did that was going to the local library and grabbing handfuls of CDs that looked interesting.

A bright cover, a catchy title, a name I recognised but didn’t really know, or something based on a book I did know - any of those could be swept into the net. Some of those CDs had music that I enjoyed and have since acquired elsewhere and continue to listen to. Others contained music that I listened to once and decided wasn’t for me.

It’s what introduced me to Gilbert & Sullivan, to opera, and to a wide variety of musicals. There were different composers, different instruments, and different repertoire for composers I already know.

A particular musical: Kismet

Sometime in the mid-2010s, one of the CDs I found was the original cast recording for the musical Kismet, which won the Tony Award in 1954. There were a lot of songs that I liked.

I’m not sure what it would be like as a musical - the plot description on Wikipedia seems very weird to me - but if I ever do see a production of it around Melbourne I’ll probably try to go along.

Perhaps its best known song is Stranger in Paradise:

But trust me - there’s a lot more to it than just that song…

Introducing a classical composer: Borodin

Kismet didn’t just introduce me to the songs and the story outline. When I looked for more information about it, I found much of the music had been adapted from the music of nineteenth century Russian composer Alexander Borodin. Before that point, I’d probably known his Polovtsian Dances, but not anything else.

So of course I listened to more, and particularly enjoyed discovering his symphonies. Not only did they have great music, but it was amusing coming across fragments from racy Kismet songs in a much more serious symphony. Like the musical, if I’d seen one of his symphonies on a concert program in Melbourne I’d have certainly considered going along. But I didn’t.

An unexpected UK trip

Our parent company is based in London. I went to the UK for work in 2013, then went there on holiday in 2016 and dropped into the office for a couple of days.

That’s nearly a decade ago. I didn’t expect to return to the UK for work, nor did I have have plans to holiday there.

Last year I spent three months travelling in Europe. I may have been under a thousand kilometres from head office, but I had no intention to visit. Then I returned to Melbourne in October, and if I’d had any plans for 2026 it was probably that it be like 2023: return from lengthy northern hemisphere travel, then take the time to catch my breath. I had no plans to leave Australia this year, and I definitely didn’t plan to head back to the other side of the world this year.

Imagine my surprise when I got back being told “Your next project will require UK travel”. And so, after nearly a decade away from London, I arrived there at the end of January - only 3.5 months after I’d left Europe.

I had in fact fled Europe before winter for an Australian spring and summer, and was now plunged back into winter.

Having said that, I do need to put on record that I loved it. I expected I wouldn’t like England as much in winter as I had previously done in summer, but I actually did - just for different reasons. The days were shorter and it was colder and rained a lot - but it didn’t feel that different from a Melbourne winter, and I can handle those just fine. What’s more, everyone queued up to tell me how terrible the weather was and to apologise for it - and that again felt just like a Melbourne winter… It turned out that evenings were still an opportunity for exploration - that just meant night time wanderings or theatrical productions, not taking advantage of extravagant summer daylight hours.

To be clear, this was also due to the particular February weather I saw. In December/January the days are shorter than anything we see in Melbourne, and on one call colleagues showed me pictures of fallen snow out of their windows. I’m sure I’d have figured out ways of coping with that if I’d been sent there then, but I wouldn’t have been saying “It’s just like a Melbourne winter”… (and yes, I’d actually seen colder weather and a lot more snow in the European Alps the previous autumn - but each time it was at the top of a cable car and I could come down to warmer weather at the end of the day).

A London Symphony Orchestra concert

I was due to be in England for two weeks, and it looked like in that time the LSO had two concerts. Nothing particularly stood out about the first one. But the second one had a Stravinsky piece I’d never heard of but would probably like, a Chopin piano concerto I knew I liked - and Borodin’s Second Symphony.

This symphony, to be precise:

In more than a decade of attending Melbourne Symphony Orchestra concerts I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Borodin symphony programmed, so it seemed like a good opportunity. At first that just meant disappointment - the concert was sold out. I didn’t forget it, though, and a couple of nights beforehand I checked it and found a few tickets still available. It may have been the day before I left London, and so I may just have needed to pack that evening, but it still wasn’t a hard choice. It was a chance to see a premier orchestra I’d never seen, in a concert hall I’d never been in, and playing pieces I was almost certain to enjoy - what’s not to like?

I think I still expected to enjoy the Chopin concerto best, and it was good - but when it came to it the Borodin symphony was so much better. The brassiness of the intro, the darkness of the opening theme - there was so much I should have known I’d like that live. It’s even got a pizzicato… - I love a good pizzicato section live (one reason why Tchaikovsky’s fourth symphony is my favourite of his though it’s not a popular choice).

What are the odds that an LSO concert including a rarely programmed symphony I’d discovered from a musical would happen to fall in the two week window I was in London? Pretty low, I’d think. And yet - it happened.

Perhaps I’d still have attended without the other pieces in the puzzle falling into place. After all, I was interested in trying an LSO concert, and I did like the Chopin piece in this particular concert. And if I had gone I imagine I’d still have enjoyed the Borodin piece - just not in the same way. I’ve sometimes discovered new pieces in concerts that I’ve enjoyed and then gone on to love. But it’s not the same as experiencing live a piece where every note is expected and is a personal friend.

The strange workings of fate

Kismet roughly means fate, or perhaps destiny. And the musical also contains a song Fate:

Consider these lyrics:

I sat down, feeling desolated, bowed my head and crossed my knees–Is fortune really predicated upon such tiny turns as these? Then Fate’s a thing without a head. A puzzle never understood, and man proceeds where he is led, unguaranteed of bad or good.
…
Fate can play a trick with the twine
To weave the evil and good
In one design!
And so, my Destiny,
I look at you and cannot see
Is it good, is it ill?
Am I blessed, am I cursed?
Is it honey on my tongue or brine?
What fate, what fate is mine?

If you’d asked me a few months ago, I’d have said “Maybe one day there will be a production of Kismet in Melbourne, and if so I’d love to attend” (that’s still true, BTW). But I wouldn’t have expected the Kismet CD borrowed from the library a decade ago to lead me within months to a Borodin symphony in London.

It’s often hard to see the big picture, let alone where specific choices I made yesterday or a year ago or a decade ago will lead me. What I can do is try to shape that future in ways that feel good to me, and to seize opportunities that present themselves. And that’s what I can also say here: Each of the steps I’ve described felt good on their own, and I think would have felt good even if they hadn’t led me to that particular concert.

And I’m sure there’s always an element of opportunity cost: The choice to do certain things is also the choice not to do other things. Perhaps one day I’ll regret some of the choices made, or perhaps regret the choices not made and the paths not taken. But I can’t get too hung up on that.

I’m not trying to make my life perfect. I don’t think it’s even possible. But “good” is possible.

This concert was a small moment in the unexpected adventure that was “if you have to be in the UK in winter for work, at least take any opportunities you can get”. And I’m sure it will be the merest footnote in the overall adventure that has been “try and find new meaning in life post-religion”. But it was definitely honey on my tongue, not brine.

Perhaps there will be unexpected negative consequences, too, though I’m really not sure what they might be. But in that moment I was just grateful how all the pieces over a decade and more had combined to make one wonderful experience.