A lone piccolo intoning the song's theme at the start of the orchestra's arrangement was able to do what soldiers and politicians could not. The gentle force of violin bows swept away lines drawn on maps more than a half-century ago.
"There's no sides - there's no North and South in 'Arirang,"' Philharmonic music director Lorin Maazel told The Associated Press after Thursday's performance in Seoul. "It's a melody for everybody. All these artificially created barriers fade away."
After the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, Leonard Bernstein led the Philharmonic in mirrored performances of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 - its final movement the ascendant, uplifting "Ode to Joy."
For its trip across the Korean Peninsula's Demilitarized Zone, the Philharmonic also chose Beethoven, finishing its program with his Symphony No. 5.
That work's famous first four notes, representing fate knocking, could be viewed as a musical call to end a standoff between the two sides, which remain technically at war since their three-year war ended not with a peace treaty but a 1953 cease-fire.
In Pyongyang, the concert began on a formal note with the North Korean and U.S. anthems, the stage framed by the flags of the two countries.
Such symbols of nationalism rang hollow under the soft strains of "Arirang." The crowd of North Koreans murmured with surprise and recognition when the Philharmonic strings intoned the well-known theme, harps chiming in with their heavenly twinkling.
The arrangement began with the piccolo mimicking the lone morning call of a bird and rose to its strident chorus evoking a picture of simple, proud village life and a time long before the Koreas were divided.
No one knows the exact meaning of the word "Arirang" - pronounced ah-ree-RAHNG - and the song is believed to date back centuries. The first part "ari" can mean "beautiful" or "deep yearning," and the "rang" means "young person."
The song is considered a sort of anthem for a reunified Korea and is usually played before friendly events between the two sides, which have made strides since the late 1990s to move past decades of animosity.
The North Koreans in the audience in Pyongyang, hand-picked party elites, rose to their feet and waved farewell to the orchestra. The musicians waved back, some in tears.
The parting was reminiscent of North Korean performances at the South Korean-run Diamond Mountain resort, one of the few places in the North outsiders can freely visit.
There, citizens of both sides wave to each other amid applause, communicating a feeling of "han" - an untranslatable Korean word that evokes lament - between people who cannot talk by telephone or send mail across their fortified border.
In South Korea's Seoul Art Center, the anticipation of the audience of 2,500 was palpable. They gave the American orchestra ovation after ovation following its program and two encores - yearning to hear the song beloved by all Koreans.
As Maazel raised his hands for "Arirang," the audience hushed.
Thunderous applause and cries of "Bravo!" rang out from people jumping from their seats after the music ended.
And with that, the American orchestra made history in a moment that rendered weapons arsenals and political dictates irrelevant.
