While deciding which country to go to on vacation, I got the idea to look up upcoming classical music concerts. There aren’t any such concerts where I live (at least not anymore, I think), so my best bet was to fly out somewhere if I wanted to experience one. When I saw that Ray Chen, one of my violin heroes, was scheduled to perform in Bangkok in May 2025, I knew I had to be there. The day the tickets went on sale, I refreshed the website impatiently and booked my ticket for THB 3,150 (about B$130).
My trip itinerary was jam-packed with back-to-back activities and stops, but I was the most excited for this concert, because I don’t think Ray performs in Asia all that often from the looks of his tour dates (it’s not like I can easily afford to go to Europe or the US for his tours), and I love this Violin Concerto dearly.
On the day itself, I took a Grab and arrived at the Prince Mahidol Hall pretty late, at 2.45pm, due to bad planning on my part around city traffic. Mercifully, the doors weren’t open yet and everyone was still just milling around outside the hall.
They had already sold out of the posters for the meet and greet later, though. I asked if I could still get Ray to sign my programme after the concert, and they had no idea what I was asking, so Google Translate it is then to the rescue. They discussed amongst themselves for a bit, which gave me hope. The next moment they said, no, you can’t, sorry. It was thirty seconds of emotional whiplash.
The doors opened and I went to my seat in the middle of the hall, the sweet spot for acoustics. The lights dimmed and the orchestra started tuning. While they did, I sat there, thinking how serendipitous it was that I had procrastinated choosing a travel destination for so long, that by the time his tour venues were announced, I still hadn’t booked any hotels or flights and was free to choose ones that accommodated his concert date.
The Thai Philharmonic Orchestra started with a piece called ‘Unfolding’. Ray came on after that. I’ll never forget how it felt to sit there and actually hear in person those first few soft, warm orchestral notes before his solo part. It felt like new beginnings. Like regardless of whatever happened in life after leaving the concert, there was still infinite hope and one could always start again. It was like I had been ‘cured’ of something I forgot I had, some sort of work-related depressive episode that hung around long enough that I had forgotten it was there, always just in the background.
I remembered how his E string famously snapped during one of the fast passages in one of his stage performances of this very same Tchaikovsky Concerto. It did not snap this time.
I cried during the performance (thankfully, it was dark inside). Now, 4,500kms away from Bangkok now, I can still close my eyes, listen to the recording, and still feel like I’m sitting there again in the middle of the hall. I still remember the full range of emotions that washed over me from the beginning to the end of the concert. I remember the goosebumps I got all over my arms.
After he finished, he generously humoured the audience’s requests for an encore thrice. He played a piece by Ysaÿe, one by Bach, and lastly Waltzing Matilda. He told us about how the last one was about a ghost. Spooky. The audience wouldn’t stop clapping (I was also guilty of participating) as we still wanted more, but Ray told us his manager said, no more. Aww.
After his exit, the orchestra continued with Dvořák’s Symphony No. 8. Then, after the concert had ended, we all waited around for Ray’s signing. I remember lots of screaming fangirls when he made his appearance. Without a poster, I couldn’t meet him, take a photo together, or get his signature. Well, there’s always a next time. I still got this beautiful experience to take home with me.