I have wondered what it must feel like to sit in the midst of a symphony orchestra, playing. Daniel Wakin explains (and gives a delightful account of his appearance therein):

A gleaming, sheer-cut wall of brass hit me from behind. Pounding timpani and crashing cymbals rattled my cartilage. A wave of woodwinds and strings swept me along. For a time, the monumental thrust and sharp rhythmic snap of the march in the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony made me feel as though the music were playing my instrument instead of vice versa.

And this….

…. a great orchestra, an organism that at its best has the might of a jet engine, the delicacy of an eye-surgeon’s laser and the coloristic nuance of a Monet painting.