Good morning Kossacks and welcome to Morning Open Thread.
We're here every morning at 6:30 a.m Eastern time. Feel free to volunteer to take a day - permanent or just once in awhile. With the autopublish feature you can set it and forget it. Quite often the diarist de jour shows up much later (like me), that's the beauty of Open Thread...it carries on without you! Just let us know in the comments.
I was hoping to have a review or two of our Carnegie Hall concert today, but so far nothing. Of course, there were reviews in the Nashville papers, but that doesn't count. I want the NEW YORK TIMES!!.
Tired doesn't describe how I feel today. It's really hard to travel at close quarters with a bunch of neurotic, perfectionist classical musicians. (Present company NOT excepted.) I, however, like to travel, and I can accommodate most people and situations. Some people don't travel well because they really can't tolerate their familiar routines and habits being upset. Fortunately, there were no large travel snafus or delays, other than the semi-car accident that stopped us on the interstate on the way up to Indiana.
There was also not much time for fun in New York, but I did manage to find a great bagel before hopping on the bus to the airport Sunday morning.
Let's just say I'm really glad to be home.
For those of you (all of you, with one or two exceptions) who didn't hear the broadcast, this Nashville Scene article by Jim Ridley gives you an idea of what you might have missed. It's the drinking game to accompany the Ives.
Drink if:
you hear a flowerpot solo.
you hear what sounds like competing people making the coconut-shell hoofbeats from Monty Python and the Holy Grail unaware of each other's existence.
you see maestro Giancarlo Guerrero calmly presiding over something that sounds like five orchestras falling down a flight of stairs.
you sense the piccolo tapping you on the shoulder.
you hear a gong when there's no gong.
you think the marble slab sounds a little flat.
you stop yourself before applauding the low hum of the air conditioning.
you get a tweet identifying the Times reviewer. (If it's Anthony Tommasini, the orchestra will drink.)
a sudden dramatic change in volume gooses you.
someone texts you they actually saw Alex Ross.
someone asks, "Hey, when's the orchestra going to stop warming up?"
Drink whenever:
you hear a bell. (Repeat every eight seconds.)
That's it for now. Jibber jabber while I get ready for my next rehearsal this morning.