Ages ago I went to a modern music concert. Featured a string quartet playing some experimental music. The program evidentially featured a German "avant guard" composer and that, friends, should have been a warning. "German", "Avant Guard", "Music" is like finding an orange sized lump under your arm... a warning. In Peekskill this was. Anyway, I got two tickets up front. Up front as in first row. Center of the stage. Now, that too ought to have provided a warning. How could I have gotten such seats?
Anyway, the disaster unfolded as follows. After a few inconsequential pieces the group, after a bow, seated themselves. This chick who played the cello or double bass or some horridly large and misshapen instrument seated herself and positioned the instrument twixt her nethers and raised her bow. As if on signal she assaulted (I say she ASSAULTED) the cello (I guess it was) and beat the shit out of it as her compatriots did the same (the intent look on her face comes back to me now).
There is a word ... le mot juste ...
I was stunned. Then the whole thing hit me ... the fiddle between the girls legs, the intent look before she struck the thing, the horrid, horrid noise.ca·coph·o·nyDictionary result for cacophony
a harsh discordant mixture of sounds.
"a cacophony of deafening alarm bells"
synonyms: din, racket, noise, discord, dissonance, discordance, caterwauling, raucousness, screeching, jarring, stridency, grating, rasping
"despite the cacophony, Rita slept on"
I lost it. Have you ever been in a place where laughter was really really wrong? This was one. I started snortling, that made it worse. I couldn't look at my wife because there was nothing she could have done that would have made it better. If she were serious I would have lost it completely. If she was on the edge of hysteria (was was I) we both would have been literally rolling. I stared straight ahead. I covered my mouth and held my nose. I bit my tongue and cheeks. The chick with the thing for the cello was 6 feet away, she looked over at me occasionally. I avoided her eye. I could not get up in front of the entire house, I could not walk out supporting myself (my knees were weak), holding my face together whilst being assaulted by "German Experimental Music".
My eyes were copiously watering, mucus was running from my nose (into my hand, jesus it was disgusting). The "piece", mercifully, came to an end, or at least petered out to silence. I got up and made a beeline to the john. I think I finally lost it halfway up the aisle. I well and truly lost it in the lobby. I think of it I still laugh. This was back in 1978? 79? Like that.
That, obviously, spelled and end for my association with the cultured class in Peekskill New York. Perhaps that is when I became a deplorable.
Fast forward ... Westport (CT) Country Playhouse. The year ...1993 ... the play: Dances at Lufthansa ... in looking up the year I find that the actual name is Dancing at Lughnasa. Don't matter. It was horrid. A bunch of bog trotting Irishmen, dead children, starving, out of work, potatoes, somebody stole a bike I think.
I felt the old familiar demon rising in my gorge. Having learned my lesson we beat a hasty retreat at intermission.
Some fag wrote a sequel to "A Dolls House" by Ibsen, fag Scandinavian playwright. OMGOMGOMG.
The main chick stands up and delivers a screed about why marriage is stupid and unnecessary. 10 minutes.
My wife leaned over and whispered "and theres no intermission".
I hate "topical" plays, I hate political plays. They are stilted and just horrible. And I really hate being lectured to from the perspective of affluent elites who really don't know the lot of the rest of us.
I tried to sleep. An old bat next to my wife was snoring. Heads were on breasts. It was funereal.
Fortunately, my mom didn't feel great and needed to visit the necessary. I saw the purpose of prayer at that instant and said "I'll go with you". She said "you don't have to". I said "yes, I do".
I am only going to musicals in the future, and not any scored by Germans.