Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Anthony Marwood and Aleksandar Madzar

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Saw Anthony Marwood and Aleksandar Madzar with Musica Viva this afternoon.  Rather good.  The second piece – after an uneventful modern eight minute non-wonder beforehand – was Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata, and it’s pieces like that, when played exceptionally well, as it was today, that make me long more and more for a different way of listening to live music, a way that doesn’t involve a full concert experience.  Because I was…  I was ‘drained’, would be the word, perhaps.  Sated.  Sated, that’s the word.  Sated.  And then there was an entire second half afterwards to listen to.  I remember, from when I was reading some of George Bernard Shaw’s music reviews, that he used to leave concerts if he’d had enough – had been sated, as it were.  It’s a shame we can’t do that nowadays.  Plus I probably wouldn’t anyway, given that it takes me so long to commute into the city.

But what I would like, I think, is some sort of system where there’s a literary salon type of set up, and a mini-concert is had beforehand – some sort of quartet or chamber orchestra.  And after one piece, everyone goes inside (or outside) (or to a different room) for dinner.  Maybe it could be a symphony too.  Who knows.  No doubt this is a case of the lawn being more verdant on the other side of the picket, but still…  And no doubt I’d become as blasé about it as I have about proper concerts.  But still.  But still.

There was an Aboriginal gentleman on the train today on the way home, complete with rat-tail hair that he liked to twirl around his finger every now and then, almost like a nervous tic.  He seemed as perfectly acceptable as most people are on trains, if perhaps slightly scruffy.  But pulling into a train station where three police officers were on the platform, I saw his head whip around with great concern to look back at the officers (I was sitting a few rows behind him).  Then, when the train came to a stop, he got out of the carriage and walked onto the platform, pulling his hoodie up over his head, and moving to one of the seats (this after looking down the platform to see, presumably, whether the cops had got on the train).  He didn’t sit on the seat either, but sat on the very top of it, one foot resting on the horizontal part of the seat, the other on the ground.  And there he waited, and was still waiting as the train pulled out.  So it seems fairly clear to me that he wasn’t getting off the train to leave the station.  I’m assuming he didn’t want to be on the same train as the cops.  Now, whether he’d done something bad and was trying to escape, because he knew the cops were looking for him, or whether he’s sick of being harassed by them, or what, I’ve no idea, but it interested me nonetheless.  (The cops, I should mention, were halfway down the platform, whereas our carriage stopped at the end.)

Still, he was much more polite than whoever it was behind me that decided to play their stereo so that the rest of the carriage was forced to listen to the music.


Written by epistemysics

November 10, 2012 at 1:34 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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