Memories Bring Back Memories

Memories Bring Back Memories

A song by Maroon 5 with these words seems to be popular these days, for if I heard about it, that means they must be everywhere on the internet and sound waves, and I could start with this morning and see where that takes it – another stop might be in the mountains, where for some reason the mind wondered a little bit earlier – when there was a mirthful conversation at the club, where one man was speaking about the next weekend and a possible sortie into town, where he has seen an opera recently, the classic Aida, with a good performance apparently, albeit when asked who was in it, the man did not know, which can only mean he is not an aficionado, though with that he is many levels above me, who would be bored stiff during a whole, long Don Giovanni, say – indeed, when much younger, Aida proved to be a torment and not an entertainment for this flimsy, superficial, musically ignorant dude…

The musical man went on to express disgust at a previous soiree, during which he had gone to enjoy something else – was it Il Barbiere di Siviglia or was it another magnum opus? – only to be tremendously disappointed when the new mise en scene would have characters dressed with anti- terrorist outfits and apparently the stage, some other costumes, maybe everything lacked decorum and our art lover left the House at entr’acte, furious with this Lèse-majesté, which would be fine, only the way he put it was almost hilarious…’ce pula mea’, which is something like ‘what the penis…or maybe what the fuck’, which contrasts with the high bar placed on the new production is such a stark manner…

I mean, on the one hand, the new director was so appalling in choosing modern costumes and a transfer to the modern age of some classic, older story and Our Man in Havana is allowed to say fuck, cock quite a few times, on top of the fact that he had already proved he is not a ‘purist’, an old timer, specialist in the opera – in which he had no idea who stars, not a soprano, not a single name – and he never mentioned some other change that could have troubled his delicate sense of Music, like a false note there, a difference in the libretto that would hurt those familiar with the works…

Which of course reminds one of the joke with ‘I am a gentlemen, what the fuck’, though to be fair, the man does try to get above his level, which is higher than mine, so this is not to make fun of him, for he is the one going to watch not just one opera, but may be a regular and even if I said he is not, maybe he is a real aficionado, while I am just hearing one aria on Mezzo, once in a while, and not even stop to absorb, exult, luxuriate in apocalyptic tunes, but only put it as background when reading, never mind going to the trouble of ennobling myself in the reverence of a performance hall, where I would most likely – what am I saying, definitely – be bored stiff…

Indeed, Memories ‘bring back memories’ as Maroon 5 has it and I remember now the manner in which we attended a concert of classical music, some thirty, maybe thirty five years ago, where we went, my sister and I, in the company of our cousin and then very good friend, Adi, who was in a mood to joke, and like us presumably, not very keen to levitate on the notes from the bassoon, the viola, the trombones or all combined and thus he kept changing places, which I think started happening after he made us laugh – well, almost, we made every effort not to break down - and we tried to avoid an embarrassing situation where we would collapse in a roar and would be evicted, or worse, maybe jailed…who knows what the punishment is for such an assault to the decency, the refined taste, the serenity of the ‘pula mea crowd’