Mozart Melting Over Pt 1

hp-little-night-music

In where I Dresden Howard tell of the first part of my night…(or well, closer to the middle, the first part involved a lot of driving and waiting. )
Yet now, a duet, an bloody finger, and scotch

 

So I just saw this classical-type orchestra-deal (http://mostlymozart.org/).

 

It began with a duet appetizer in which two wiolinests played a virtuoso of two regular songs and then seven quick numbers that showed their talent.   Now, I seem to have this empathetic ability to feel possibly what someone else is, I’m not sure how accurate this is, but I’m slowly testing it to see if it is in fact a superpower.
But, regardless of my potential supernatural abilities, the silence of the huge room and the two lone musicians brought to me that moment of tense fear, that lump in your throat as you are about to jump off the high dive or about to kiss someone. It filled the room and it emanated from the student of the two musicians, a young girl of about 21 or so. She was the one I empathized with, finally performing at 50% solo status. Next to her was this dude who seemed as though he was a god among violinists come down to earth for a fleeting moment. If you search violin god, that old dude the second row down is sort of what he looked like. (not iCarly). It seemed as though the young girl next to him was under his tutelage and I could feel their excitement. (I really wanted to use that word since I heard it this morning).

I sat in the balcony as the silence drew raw I could feel the musicians’ energy as the took their positions. The acoustics were so that the faintest shuffling, the scratch of fabric, the ever cleshe drop of a pin (although the floors were carpeted It could have been possible to hear a pin fall on the armrest or on someone’s bald head in the lower level). the moment hung on until they raised their bows and in a flash the silence was whisked away by a smooth crisp note of pure radiant love. The notes of the student complemented by her teacher soothed the butterflies I had for them in my stomach.  If you have never heard the faintest noise of a violin dancing with a partner in a silent room of five hundred people, I suggest you attempt to make it happen once.

They were astonishing, moving from songs that brought me to different worlds: a desert chase, an old man in is study dreaming of the cosmos, A cascade of faries jumping through the deep woods, and a battle between eagle riders and flying serpents. Yet just as swiftly as they began, the music stopped and they bowed and left to a low applause.

And that was just the free show at the beginning.

A scotch or two later on the veranda, I returned in a rather coming up psychedelic-style inebriation. I was aware that far more people showed up for the actual orchestra than the duet. Makes sense, but the duet certainly had me in gear for what was about to happen, I pitied those who had not felt what I did. I scanned the people who filed in and were sitting down. The crowd was far from the hippies I usually tango with up in Vermont, and they certainly were not the rap and hip hop enthusiasts from my home town. I don’t think any of them listened to metal in their life (except the one dude up front who’s spiked hair made a visible outline against the stage lights). No, despite the 25% who were classy young individuals with nothing to lose,  they were all mostly 40-60 year olds, married couples who decided to go out to Lincoln center (there was a veritable mountain range of balding heads).

However none compared to the couple sitting next to me in the balcony. There I was, about X scotches deep, sweating and feeling like I’m on the verge of a trip with all these people around and and the two most ancient people sit next to me. I slouched leftwards in my chair and begged  for them to say nothing to me.

I think a curse that counterbalances my possible superpower is that I cant help talking to people, and I’m good at it. What? not a curse? Even if I have nothing to say, there I am saying something, spouting bullshit. Oh look there’s someone I’d rather not speak to, but once they initiate a conversation, I’m done for for at least fifteen minutes. (I also am bad at ending these conversations usually which is why I avoid them)

The guy who sat next to me.

The guy who sat next to me.

But of course, the woman, who looks like a janga tower, turns to me over her husband and says to me. “Do you know who Mozart is?”

This was immediately the wrong thing to ask. With my conversational curse and the fact that alcohol removes that fine layer of my mental process that determines what you should say that’s honest, and what you should say that’s “polite” (lie). I have no real problems with older people, in fact the majority of them are awesome, funny people who lived in a time I can watch about on the history channel. Yes, they were there in those messed up camera recordings. They listened to phonographs and lived in a world before shit got complicated.

Well at that moment I forgot all that and took her remark as an insult, just because I was the only younger person here that I wouldn’t be as cultured as her.

And so the conversation became very one sided “Of course I know who Mozart is,” I said “Why the hell would I be here if I didn’t know who Mozart was!? look, just because I’m not decrepit dosen’t mean I don’t understand the finer points of classical composerey- ” I belched the taste of scotch

Well she retreated and at that point her addled husband turned to me and put his finger in my face. “Don’t talk to my wife that way.”

He had a napkin that was stained with blood over his finger and it was three inches from my nose. I was about to remark when some merciful deity sent the musicians out from the realm they had been previously kept in, and applause ended that phase of the interaction.

To be continued….

Dresden—

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