I recently went to the symphony with Hoss, because we are oh so cosmopolitan. We did ourselves up, Hoss in a suave tuxedo, I in a hicky plaid shirt and bow tie. The show was at a church, which was a little too holy for me.
It was not so nearly impressionistic in actuality.
Dvorak and Beethoven were on the docket, the Dvorak being dark and Slavic, and the Beethoven full of joie de vivre. An old man sitting beside me who couldn’t see gave me a lecture on the necessity of perseverance. Besides the despicable affectations of genius that a viola player feigned by romantic lolls of his head, it was an enjoyable night.
There was an intermission, during which I ate a skewered marshmallow, brownie, strawberry snack with as much decorum as one can whilst eating a sticky, gooey spear.
The second part of the show consisted of the Beethoven. The symphony was lucky to share the stage with the Lehnert Trio, who are a pretty big deal in Colorado. Oswald, the father-husband-violinist, and Oswald Jr., the son-bassist needed to re-tune their instruments to the sounds of the spheres, but Doris, the mother-wife-pianist was on point.
When she took the stage, I was kind of astounded by her presence. She wore a blue dress-suit that sparkled in the lights above. In her silver hair she had a glimmering hair clip, with dangling earrings to match. She smiled at me when she sat down at her grand piano, which disarmed me.
She played fantastically with an energy that was fascinating to watch. She bobbed her head as well, not with affectation, but with sincerity of emotion. Her fingers pounded the keys like lightning bolts from the cosmos. Yes, exactly that. She played with the exhibition of a rock star, and the expertise of a craftsmen.
– Professor Rhadamanthus, Esq.