The Fredösphere

Whew.  Last night's world premiere went well.  I sang "thy will be done" at the very end while my mates sang (correctly) "your will be done," and the annoyance of that mistake lingers.  Nevertheless, if that's my biggest problem with how we did, I guess I'm happy.

You may wonder how the audience reacted to this bit of high falutin' new music.  The bassoon solo near the beginning drew catcalls and whistles.  Soon after, the noises escalated to outright shouting, then fistfights broke out in the aisles, and we performers were pelted with rotten vegetables.

In other words, it went better than I would have dared to hope.

During the melee, I picked up a few skills in hand-to-hand combat (mostly involving eye gouging) that I intend to pass on to Hizzoner, Terry Teachout.  He may find them handy in his new job of defending the Constitution from its enemies, foreign and domestic.

Der Drübermensch told me he thought some of the music sounded scary.  When he heard "ding-a-lings" (a hand bell) he drew clocks; when he heard "thunder" (a bass drum roll) he drew "cracks," which I took to mean lightening bolts; when he heard singing, he drew musical notes.  Hey -- at least one person was paying attention.