Archive for the ‘Concert review’ category

Half a Good Concert is Better Than None: The National Festival Orchestra at the University of Maryland, June 13, 2015

June 15, 2015

The National Orchestral Institute‘s National Festival Orchestra, housed every summer at the University of Maryland, often presents concerts that exceed reasonable expectations for an orchestra composed of outstanding students: technically accomplished, yet also full of a wonder and joy that elude many professional ensembles. (For more background, you can check out this story, which if nothing else proves that linking to myself is fun for me.)

The record label Naxos got wind of this, and their sound engineers festooned the Dekelbaum Concert Hall with microphones for the NFO’s concert on Saturday night, the first recording in what will be an annual series of recording dates, with each successive iteration of the NFO playing an all-American program for digital immortality.

The NFO’s performance of John Corigliano’s Symphony No. 1 surely merited repeated hearings. This is a big-canvas work for a huge orchestra that tackles a great enormity, the plague of AIDS during the 1980s, through the most personal means possible: memorials for friends the composer lost to the disease. Ironically, hearing this work live made it make much more sense to me than the recording by which I had previously known it: An offstage piano, playing a tango that was a favorite of one of Corigliano’s friends, now sounded and appeared decisively separated from the main orchestra’s attempts to make sense of the death, and the waves of brass in the epilogue, spread across the stage, felt like real ocean currents with the proper sense of sonic separation.

The musicians made both these special orchestral effects and the more conventional passages sound incredibly vivid. Guest conductor David Alan Miller, music director of the Albany Symphony and a noted champion of American composers, gave his young charges clear direction and urged them to expression while fitting individual moments into the overarching structure of the symphony.

David Alan Miller. Photo from the Albany Symphony website.

David Alan Miller. Photo from the Albany Symphony website.

Much of this music is supposed to sound brutal — the first movement is subtitled “Of Rage and Rememberance,” and the second depicts an acceleration into madness. But in this performance, each brutal moment had its own unique sonic character that drove the narrative forward, with the whopping six percussionists variegating their playingf nicely in particular. The strings played everywhere in the emotional and musical spectrum with aplomb, seething on an A to open the work and serving as a balm elsewhere, with notably eloquent solo cello work from the principal in the third movement, when Corigliano eulogizes a player of that instrument. The winds matched their counterparts in eloquence and virtuosity. Most professional orchestras would be quite proud of an effort like this.

The pre-intermission performances came up short of that standard. In Michael Torke’s “Bright Blue Music” (another work I have been waiting for a long time to hear in a concert hall), the orchestra’s various sections every so slightly out of sync with each other, making a work that should both shine brightly (hence the name!) and bustle with activity instead sound blurry and fall flat.

The same large orchestra that played “Bright Blue Music” more or less stayed on to play the suite from Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring,” which for pedagogical purposes is entirely understandable — no one came to the NOI not to play in the orchestra. However, textures that sound crystalline in chamber-orchestra renditions sounded big and boxy on Saturday night, creating some emotional distance from the melodies. It was interesting to hear the Copland after the Torke, however, as the Torke seemed to be made up almost entirely of the little interstitial bits Copland uses to get from melody to melody. In the right hands, Torke’s super-tonal harmonies and refusal to engage melodically makes for a oddly uplifting and meditative experience. I’m going to have to wait for a while to hear that performance live, I suspect.

Still, this was the NFO’s first full concert with a guest conductor, and the playing in the Corigliano symphony was well worth the $25 that the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center asked folks to pony up to hear it. The last two programs this year (here and here) seem like potential winners as well. Go see ’em.

Other People’s Perspectives: Charles T. Downey.

BEING RECORDED

To accommodate Naxos’ efforts, the audience was asked to avoid making any unnecessary noise, like applause between movements and loud coughing, and you could have heard a pin drop in the hall throughout. I confess I spent a few seconds during the concert angrily remonstrating my nose for even thinking about letting loose a sneeze. I made it without spoiling anything.

The opening bars of the Corigliano, which aren’t even that hardcore in terms of dissonance compared to what would arrive just a few moments later, chased a couple elderly audience members seated to my left out of the hall. They walked very softly, though, and I am sure the record-buying public will be none the wiser. I don’t really understand buying a ticket to a concert and then not actually listening to the all the music to which your ticket entitles you, but then again I actually like this stuff.

A Marvelous Strangeness: Brian Ganz at the Music Center at Strathmore, February 7, 2015

February 9, 2015

Brian Ganz thought a lot about how to showcase the mazurka in the fifth concert of his effort to perform all the works of Frederic Chopin. As Ganz noted, Chopin’s mazurkas are based on the Polish folk dance but transcend those roots; their constant rhythmic and harmonic shifts give them, in Ganz’s words, a “marvelous strangeness” that makes them less accessible than some of Freddy’s other stuff but emotionally intense and endlessly fascinating. So on Saturday night at the Music Center at Strathmore, he leavened the program with more straightforward pieces; he discussed the rhythms and harmonies to help the audience put words on the sensations the mazurkas create; and, most importantly, he played every note as a thing of beauty in and of itself and as part of a spontaneous yet controlled musical line, as he has in every concert in this series that I’ve attended. (See 2012, 2013, and 2014.)

Onstage discussion is not for everyone, but a performer who is really good at it can add a conceptual framework to guide the audience through the pretty notes coming from the stage. Ganz’s talks are the best I’ve ever heard. He talks fluently without notes, comes prepared, makes both his hymns to Chopin’s greatness and his jokes about performing sound completely sincere, and chooses concise yet apt musical excerpts to illustrate his points. He’s also a pithy quote machine, on Saturday describing the “mystery of time and memory” that the mazurkas evoke, which is better that anything I would have come up with by myself. (You can get a very small idea of what his talks were like here.)

Brian Ganz, going mazurk(a) at Saturday's concert. Photo by Jay Mallin.

Brian Ganz, going mazurk(a) at Saturday’s concert. Photo by Jay Mallin.

His actual piano playing rewarded the interest that his discussions piqued. Perhaps Ganz doesn’t have that International Virtuoso Firepower that could make the D-flat major “Minute” Waltz into a hyper-smooth cascade of notes that would actually take somewhere close to a minute (“Don’t get out your stopwatches!” he cautioned the audience). Rather, Ganz is the type of player to note that the waltz was inspired by Chopin seeing a dog chase its own tail and then perform the waltz with the same kind of merry, scampering obsessiveness. In the meatier fare of the mazurkas, he seemed to lay down each unexpected modulation or rhythmic hiccup as both a musical and philosophical event, creating a world and inviting us into it. (The B-flat minor mazurka, Op. 24/4, stood out particularly for me in this regard, with many of the key changes seeming both like recriminations and attempts to find a way forward.) I find this kind of playing much more exciting than sewing-machine facility. Plus, Ganz can definitely deliver thrills for their own sake when called for; witness the low-bass rumbles in the F-sharp minor Polonaise, Op. 44, or the tossed-off brilliance of the Rondo a la Mazur, a juvenile work that Ganz showed to be well worth a hearing on Saturday.

The National Philharmonic has promised to keep sponsoring these concerts until Ganz has completed his Chopin cycle, which is projected to take another five years at the current one-concert-a-year pace.  On a personal note, this was the first concert I have tried to review since my wife and I had our first child in October. It turns out that as difficult as it is to find childcare to attend a concert, it is also difficult to find time in the day to write a review of said concert when the little one needs to be fed every three hours. So this blog will probably be going silent again for a while. But it was worth it to keep the string of concert attendance unbroken, to learn a few new things about great music, and to get another keen appreciation of Chopin from Brian Ganz.

Carrying On Tradition: The National Festival Orchestra at the University of Maryland, June 21, 2014

June 23, 2014

I’ve been attending National Orchestral Institute and Festival concerts at the University of Maryland since I was in high school, when the happening was just the National Orchestral Institute and its students performed collectively as the NOI Philharmonic. Though the musicians at NOI change every year, Saturday’s National Festival Orchestra concert, in which the assembled young people performed under the baton of Rochester Philharmonic conductor laureate Christopher Seaman, evinced the same virtues that drew me to the festival when I was young: Top-notch orchestral playing, crackling with excitement one hears only sometimes at professional symphony concerts, for rock-bottom prices – $25 for any seat in Dekelbaum Hall, in the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center.

Christopher Seaman.

Christopher Seaman.

Saturday night’s program of music by Richard Strauss, Benjamin Britten, and Gustav Holst provided a lot of opportunities for Seaman and the orchestra to wallow in sound or emotion. Skipping most of those, Seaman set flowing tempi and rarely slowed things down, even noticeably abbreviating the typical pauses between movements. Yet these were full-hearted readings nonetheless, thanks to the gorgeous sounds the orchestra made and the excitement that informed the playing.

The antics of Strauss’s “Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks” have always been lost on me, I confess; I listen to hear that the fiendish horn solo comes off well and then, despite my best efforts, zone out. Here said solo did come off well (as did the woodwind pratfalls that accompany it), but Seaman’s brisk tempi allowed me to actually hear the humor of the various episodes. Britten’s “Four Sea Interludes,” drawn from the opera “Peter Grimes,” demand more atmospheric playing, which they received: you could almost hear the waves lapping on the shore in the string figures and smell the salt tang in the thin air, limned by the winds, during the “Dawn” interlude, while the storm interlude crashed all the more powerfully for holding something in reserve until a big climax.

The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra put on quite a fine performance of Holst’s suite “The Planets” a few months ago, and if you sat me down with recordings of the National Festival Orchestra’s rendition and the BSO’s, I’m not sure I could pick out the professional versus the nonprofessional orchestra. The Natty Festivians had a few moments where the percussion got out of sync with the rest of the orchestra, and a couple times one member of the brass hit the wrong repeated note for a couple measures, but that was it for the demerits. In the students’ favor: Massive, snarling low brass, lower strings that made an impenetrable shelf of sound when called for, sweet-toned upper strings, and all-around excellent wind playing. The 5/4 tread of “Mars” felt impersonal and relentless as it should, quick and steady on Saturday, and the “Sorcerer’s Apprentice”-esque climax of “Uranus” felt inevitable thanks to similar rhythmic intensity. “Mercury,” where the melody flits among sections of the orchestra, sounded like a continuous thought thanks to the careful coordination of Seaman and his players. The heart of the work for me, though, was the noble theme in the middle of “Jupiter,” played by the National Festival Orchestra with a simplicity and eloquence that conveyed deep emotion without digging for it. A tough trick to pull off, but Seaman and the orchestra did it.

There’s one more National Festival Orchestra show this month, next Saturday at 8 pm, in which Leonard Slatkin will conduct Dmitri Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony and some other stuff. Twenty-five bucks!

Other People’s Perspectives: Robert Battey

WHEN I WAS YOUNG…

I certainly would not have thought of conductorly restraint as something to which one should aspire. I wanted everything to be all emphasis all the time. It appears that after having eagerly sought out such approaches, I am now ready for balance and restraint to have the fore. I was feeling so nostalgic driving home from the concert and thinking about piloting my parents’ Ford Taurus station wagon to the terrible acoustics at Tawes Hall to hear a bunch of kids who were actually a bit older than me play orchestral instruments better than I could do anything, and it really gave me some perspective. It’s time to pur away childish things, For example, in this review…

I DIDN’T EVEN MAKE THE OBVIOUS JOKES ABOUT THE CONDUCTOR’S NAME

You know what jokes I’m talking about. Don’t lie. (I can put away childish things but cannot pretend that they don’t exist, apparently.)

A Collegial Chamber: National Orchestral Institute Faculty Artists at the University of Maryland, June 5, 2014

June 8, 2014

For years, I’ve attended the orchestral concerts at the University of Maryland’s National Orchestral Institute and Festival, because a bunch of talented young people living, learning, and making music together often results in exciting concert-going. However, to teach those students, the NOI also gathers together various orchestral luminaries, and said luminaries put on a concert or two as well.

I always thought the orchestral faculty would probably play music for difficult-to-assemble instrumental combos, show the whippersnappers how to communicate through music, and generally have a good time. But I never went. On Thursday night, I finally tried actually attending one in the Gildenhorn Recital Hall, and it was exactly as I expected.

The first half of the program featured three medium-length combos of one wind or brass instrument and a few strings — how often do you get to hear textural variety like that? Oboist Mark Hill, violinist James Stern, violist Katherine Murdock, and cellist Julia Lichten had just the right touch in Bejnamin Britten’s Phantasy, phollowing Britten’s phree invention where it led but phinding a relationship of the parts to the whole. Phun! The high caliber of playing helped too; Lichten was particularly notable in the opening and closing notes, quiet and mysterious.

Gorgeous playing didn’t make Alan Hovanhess’ “Haroutiun (Resurrection)” enjoyable, though. Trumpeter Chris Gekker moderated his tone beautifully to fit with his string-playing colleagues, but Hovanhess’ theme dripped with sap, and the music never strayed too far from the theme and its modal harmonies even in the nominally fugal second section.

Along with violinist Sally McLain, violist Edward Gazouleas, and cellist Peter Stumpf, Frank Morelli and his bassoon brought back the fun in Carl Maria von Weber’s “Andante e Rondo ungarese.” All of the musicians enjoyed the poise of the Andante theme and the infectious rhythms of the rondo, but the star was Morelli (day job: Orpheus Chamber Orchestra), who played virtuoso runs up and down the scale with scintillating style and wit.

Frank Morelli. Photo from Orpheus' website.

Frank Morelli. Photo from Orpheus’ website.

Johannes Brahms’ second string sextet made up the second half of the program: a meaty piece full of the harmonic shading, motivic complexity, and general wistful mood that we think of as echt-Brahmsian. Though a Romantic-era piece, it benefitted on Thursday from the assembled stringsters’ Classical-style emphasis on lightness and transparent textures. You could hear everything that was going on with the internal voices and follow the motives around, or you could let the emotions of the music carry you away, and I did both. The only hiccup was that David Salness and Stern, taking first and second violin, respectively, seemed slightly out of tune with each other at times. Otherwise, top-shelf stuff; Murdock and Gazouleas were exemplary middle voices, and it was a treat to hear Stumpf and Lichten make their big melodies sing.

Did I mention this concert was free? You can check out the other stuff in the NOI Festival here. There are a couple chamber concerts by the students today, which I have also always thought would be fun to check out. Maybe next year.

So Long Lives This: Aaron Grad and Augustine Mercante at the Mansion at Strathmore, May 15, 2014

May 17, 2014

Composer Aaron Grad doesn’t feel constrained by conventional models; he fashions his means of expression to suit his end. For example: His cycle of Old-Fashioned Love Songs, written for his wife and commissioned by Strathmore, where it received its DMV premiere on Thursday night.

In the cycle, Alexandria-born Grad sets to music poems by…him, written largely in metrical rhyming verse. He also includes songs by composers as diverse as Henry Purcell and Cyndi Lauper, recontextualizing the tunes to his own ends as necessary. The only instrument Grad calls for is an electric theorbo, which he built and plays, although he said in a post-concert Q&A that he isn’t quite adept at playing it yet. All these songs were sung by Augustine Mercante, a music-school chum of Grad’s, who used his fine countertenor voice in any musical style Grad asked him to.

Aaron Grad. Photo from his website.

Aaron Grad. Photo from his website.

Sounds like a lot of ideas for one opus, but Grad has enough skill to make these disparate elements and novelties coalesce. The electric theorbo has an intimidating array of strings and outputs, but its general sounds are familiar enough: haunting strummed chords, percussive twangs, gently plucked melodies that hung sweetly in the air. (I was momentarily surprised when Grad used a sampler to layer on textures, but then, instruments can do that now.) It’s an old-fashioned instrument refashioned for modern purposes, and Grad made it sound good. It sounded particularly good tracing the close arpeggiated harmonies in Johann Hieronymus Kapsberger’s “Toccata No. 2,” which is the first music in Grad’s cycle and dates all the way from 1604.

The cycle actually opens with a spoken recitation of Grad’s “Preamble,” with the preamble set to music after Kapsberger has his moment. Grad’s poems are pretty sturdily constructed, with some witty turns, particularly in “Music Theory” — “Dissonance for its own sake/Is such a load of hooey!/We don’t needlessly complicate/Our composition, do we?” He is not entirely immune to the lure of a fine cliche, but like any good postmodernist he owns up to them: “A foolish quest this is, to bare my heart/Through tired, worn-out conventions.”

But he doesn’t just acknowledge the dead language; he gives it some new life. Part of this success comes from seeing in the songs by others a through-line across the centuries, particularly with the same vocalist and instrument enlisted to bring them to life. Part comes from how Grad cannily comments on the songs of other authorship; Stephen Foster’s “Kissing in the Dark” gets intro’ed by Grad’s “Risk Management,” a monologue of a nervous lover, in which the theorbo bristles with tension but also propels the music forward into the sweet oasis of the Foster. A reprise confirms that the risk has been successfully managed.

The whole thing wouldn’t work without Mercante. Grad tailored the cycle specifically to his voice, and so Mercante sounded extraordinary, a gorgeous voice that shifted from sparkling William Boyce to swinging George Gershwin without breaking a sweat. The sheer purity and high-ness of his male voice gave a timeless, universal feel Grad’s words as well, suiting a cycle that deals in big thoughts about love rather than specific thoughts about a person.

The closing two songs of the cycle both showed some of Grad’s best moves and scaled the steepest emotional heights. Normally, Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me” reads as a lovers’ retreat, but Grad prefaced it with “The Poetics of Loss,” which begins, “If we cannot speak of death, Let us simply say: away.” Grad’s arrangement of the accompaniment, spare and clean, reinforced the new interpretation; once the song was done, the music slowly but surely rolled back into the Kapsberger with which the cycle began. All sorts of ideas and juxtapositions informed these moments, but Grad’s singular vision and skilled realization made them matter.

Other People’s Perspectives: Joan Reinthaler. More about the song cycle here.

Spring Into Dance: University of Maryland Symphony Orchestra at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center, May 4, 2014

May 6, 2014

The University of Maryland Symphony Orchestra performed a fully choreographed version of Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring” on Sunday afternoon at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center. They didn’t accompany the dancing; they were the dancers, throwing themselves into choreography by famed dance-maker Liz Lerman. This follows up on a UMSO/Lerman triumph of two years previous, a similar effort to the strains of Claude Debussy’s “Prelude a l’après-midi d’une faune,” which you can kind of get the idea of from this video. I watched the video from the previous concert but didn’t attend, and so I didn’t realize how much the movement would transform the music as well as the visual experience of a concert. The word’s overused, but this truly was an unforgettable experience.

And it was an experience framed in memory: Martha Wittman came onto the dark stage and sat down: an older woman paging slowly through a book with a smile on her face. Wittman, who not only danced but also collaborated on the choreography, seemed to be awakening the opening measures with her reminiscences; she eventually found a younger foil in U-Md. conducting student Enrico Lopez-Yanez, whose energy inspired Wittman to match as the music sped merrily along. The framing actions (no program was supplied) served to make the stage into a festive reminiscence, with the musicians garbed in rustic attire appropriate to an Appalachian get-together.

Some of the musicians danced with more ease than others, which is to be expected, but they all threw themselves into their moves and played more than creditably while doing so. Indeed, every so often Lerman, along with choreographic collaborator Vincent Thomas, pressed the students to the edge of reasonable possibility, and the UMSO accepted all the challenges: A double-bassist scrambling across the stage carrying his instrument above his head, a bassoonist standing on a fellow musician’s back and delivering a fine solo, a flautist throwing himself into vigorous dancing one minute and playing with perfect breath in the next. That’s commitment, folks.

This is from rehearsal, but it totally happened live. Photo by Kirsten Poulsen-House.

This is from rehearsal, but it totally happened live. Photo by Kirsten Poulsen-House.

Still, the revelation for me came not in the dancing itself, but what it did to the music when the musicians formed and dissolved their various constellations on the Dekelboum Concert Hall’s stage. Instrumental combos that would never sit next to each other (trumpets and violins side-by-side? Sure!) made familiar sounds newly piquant. Textures thinned out, opened up, and at times felt kaleidoscopic, as when string players walked in circles, and you could hear individual notes from the unison playing fade in and out ever so slightly. Woodwinds scattered across the stage to call to each other, underlining Copland’s playful writing and giving it a visual dimension. Especially vigorous rhythms actually got stomped out by the musicians who were playing them, as they advanced from the rear risers. Music that’s always evoked a country celebration in my mind seemed to actually belong to one. And I got goosebumps when a bunch of the musicians strode purposefully to the very front of the stage to blast the climactic statement of “Simple Gifts,” both from the earnest straightforwardness and the sheer volume of sound.

James Ross, the artistic director of the UMSO, masterminded all this effort but was nowhere to be found on stage until the applause started. Being conductorless, too, seemed to liberate and excite the musicians; they had so many responsibilities that they had to be really present, all the time. After that final “Simple Gifts” statement, the music recedes into that twilight memory space again, and Wittman’s character returned to her book; the final touching moment for me was watching a percussion player and harpist nodding to each other as they played the sweet final notes under sustained strings.

It was inevitably a bit of a letdown to hear two pieces after intermission in the standard orchestral configuration, with Ross at the front and everyone sitting down, not that I expect any orchestra to be able to put together a fully choreographed program. (Yes, that’s a dare!)

Robert Russell Bennett’s “Porgy and Bess: A Symphonic Picture” clothed George Gershwin’s immortal tunes in sometimes overfine symphonic garb, overemphasizing the blue notes that were natural to Gershwin. The students romped through it anyway, but I filed the arrangement in the category of “fun but I never need to hear it again.” On the other hand, Henri Dutilleux’s Metaboles, five small-scale works for large-scale orchestra, gleamed with clarity and quivered with tension, orchestral colors bursting from every measure – a showpiece well-shown. And yet, in years to come, it’s the dance I’ll remember.

Other People’s Perspectives: Anne Midgette. More photos available here, in case you’re wondering what it looked like. 

Update: Video now available!

Narrative through Notes: Brian Ganz at the Music Center at Strathmore, February 22, 2014

February 25, 2014

The fourth in Brian Ganz‘s series of concerts at the Music Center at Strathmore traversing the piano works of Frederic Chopin was titled “Chopin, the Storyteller,” but Ganz has always been telling stories through Chopin’s music, stories that help to animate everything from the earliest mazurka to the most celebrated ballade. The 2014 installment of the series just put it in the title.

Ganz addressing the Strathmore crowd on Saturday. Photo from his Facebook page.

Ganz addressing the Strathmore crowd on Saturday. Photo from his Facebook page.

As always, Ganz provided some remarks from the stage that were stimulating if you knew Chopin’s music well and helpful to focus your attention if you were exploring the repertoire through this concert. Ganz found evidence of Chopin’s narrative gift in his music’s immediacy (especially as Chopin worked with shorter forms), pacing, and his courage to explore the darker places. Fair assessments all!

Yet I was struck anew at this concert by the tension Chopin gets from ambiguity: the same phrase recast with a slight flicker in harmony that calls into question what’s come before, or a melody proceeding tentatively, doubling back on itself, unsure of where to take its next step. Ganz draws out these details, and it’s what makes his performances of works like the Mazurka in A minor, Op. 17 no. 4, so remarkable. I’ve rarely wanted to both sit in stillness for a minute and stand up and cheer like I did after Ganz played this music on Saturday.

Ganz also keeps a sure rhythmic sense through all his careful explorations, which helped animate performances of the two Op. 65 waltzes that were somewhat slower than you often hear, and which made the Variationes brilliantes and the concert-closing Scherzo No. 4 as dazzling as the composer intended. It’s of a piece with his overall approach, which balances in-the-moment concentration and spontaneity with a keen feeling for the overall shape of the work.

The most dramatic test of Ganz’s concentration and hold over the audience came in his performance of the Ballade no. 4 in F minor. As he wound up to a grand climax of fortissimo chords, he leaned back just a little, milking a pause. During the silence, someone in the chorister seats shouted “All right!”, sounding like Otto the bus driver from “The Simpsons.” The audience tittered, and suddenly the spell cast by the performance seemed fragile. Yet Ganz trusted himself and the music, playing five soft chords slowly, with a ringing tone, to bring everything back to Chopin.

The National Philharmonic of Montgomery County, which sponsors Ganz’s series, will host Ganz on March 8 and 9 to play some more Chopin, specifically the first piano concerto. If you missed last Saturday’s concert, it’s another opportunity to hear an outstanding Chopin interpreter doing what he does best.

THE KIDS WERE KIND OF ANNOYING, THOUGH

The National Philharmonic has a commendable “All Kids Free, All the Time” policy that allows those from ages 7 to 17 to attend without paying. This has undoubtedly exposed many youths to inspiring music. On Saturday, it exposed the 7-year-old-looking boy in front of me to what seemed to be his worst nightmare, as incredibly antsy boredom in the concert’s first half yielded to desperate appeals for sleep in the second half, appeals only answered when he took it upon himself to go to sleep on the floor, to much murmuring from the adults who had dragged him to the concert. He remained asleep after the concert ended and he was picked up from the floor. The whole thing was remarkably distracting. I am not sure whether there are any larger lessons to be drawn from it, but it seemed worth mentioning.


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