This June offered a particularly interesting perspective on how the relationship between classical music and its audience can change. From Kifissia to Pnyx and from the Megaron Garden to the Archaeological Museum of Piraeus and the Ancient Theatre of Zea, Athens seemed for a few days like a grand open stage. Not in terms of spectacle, but in terms of accessibility: music emerged from enclosed – and often – imposing venues and large halls, approaching people who might not easily seek it out otherwise.
This is not a small change. Classical music has been associated, especially in recent centuries, with venues of “high ritual”: concert halls, grand auditoriums, strict listening codes. Of course, all of these have their significance. They create conditions for concentration, precision, and deep listening. At the same time, however, they can also act as a barrier, especially for people unfamiliar with the world of classical music. Therefore, moving into public spaces does not diminish its value; on the contrary, it makes it more visible, more accessible, and more present in the life of the city.
Undoubtedly, the most impressive example was the concert at Pnyx. On June 21, as part of EUROPIANO, Athens joined ten other European cities in a pan-European broadcast by ARTE and ZDF. The Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen, under the direction of Constantinos Carydis and with soloist Lukas Sternath, performed Beethoven’s 5th Piano Concerto, against the backdrop of the Attic sky and the Acropolis. The production was immense: four months of preparation, four days of production, two days of filming, 150 people in the production, eleven cameras, and hundreds of hours of audiovisual material.
This captured what classical music in an open space means. Pnyx was not merely an impressive backdrop. It was part of the experience. The music conversed with history, the city, memory. And at the same time, in the Megaron Garden, 3,368 spectators watched the entire European concerts live on a large screen, transforming listening into a collective event.
This is perhaps the most fertile element of this shift. Open-air concerts can open up new pathways to younger audiences, to people unfamiliar with the “code” of the concert hall, to communities that gather in public spaces. The first encounter with Beethoven, Mahler, or Bach does not always need to happen through the formality of a ticket and an enclosed hall. It can happen in a square, in a garden, in an archaeological site, within the city itself.
However, there is also a deeper dimension: the re-appropriation of public space. When a garden, a hill, a grove, or an urban landmark is transformed into a listening space, it does not merely function as a backdrop. It returns to the residents as a place of encounter, participation, and shared experience. In an era where public space is often restricted, commercialized, or loses its collective character, music can revitalize it.
However, there is always the risk that the image becomes more powerful than the listening experience. Large broadcasts, the use of drones, iconic locations, and television direction can easily turn classical music into a spectacle disconnected from its essence. The goal is balance: for the image to serve as a bridge to the music, not as a substitute for it.
Perhaps this is also the essential meaning of Music Day. Not just to hear more music for one day, but to rethink where, how, and with whom we share it. Because when classical music goes out into public spaces, it’s not just the setting that changes. Its relationship with society also changes. And perhaps there, under the Attic sky and with Pnyx being “heard” across Europe, it became clear that classical music can be both high art and a common experience.
