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’
