080113

I do love attending classical music concerts. I may prefer certain program or venue over others, but the overall experience is, for the most part, enjoyable. But always, without exception, there are these two types of older ladies (for some reason, they are always older and they are always women) attending these concerts who absolutely drive me insane--one, those who wear too much perfume, and two, those who have incessant need for a certain something wrapped in a plastic bag inside their little handbags. At today's concert, the perfume lady sat in front of me, and the plastic lady sat two seats to my left.

Pet peeves aside, the quartet played superbly even through the venue's poor acoustics, although they did lose the audience with Shostakovich's Quarter No. 15. I have never seen so many bobbing heads at a concert before. If I may be so bold to comment, I think the musicians' minds collectively floated away to Leningrad while the audience remained in the poorly ventilated auditorium in California on an unseasonably warm day. Feeling that obvious disconnect, I sat there wishing for chilly winter winds and, for reasons beyond my comprehension, a cigarette. I could have neither, so I just sat there staring at second violinist's suit, which seemed better tailored and of more refined fabric than those of his peers.

Reading back what I have written so far, I may have unjustifiably complained about a pleasant chamber music outing, my first for the year. Unfortunately, I can't seem to find so many different words to say that I enjoyed it--fault me for being a better complainer than a complimenter. But I walked out of the concert with a reminder of something I had always wanted to do--to learn cello. On second thought, however, maybe in my next life....