Wednesday, 11 November 2009

The Things We Do For Art

Last night I dreamed of Winterreise......

The hall was hushed, a man was singing. Then he started to croon, and clicked his fingers in time to the beat. He decorated Schubert with Shooby dooby doo, smirking how well he could make the lines "rock".

Fast asleep. I leapt out of bed, landing on my ankle, twisting it so badly that it's now swelled up to my knee. I can't walk. Luckily I dosed up on prescription strength Naprosen.

The Things We Do For Art.


Gavin Plumley said...

Were you listening to that grim new Sting album?

Doundou Tchil said...

Sting I can escape and at least he's sincere. But exaggerated crooning is where Lieder singing is heading these days, fuelled by public expectations and those who don't understand the genre. A friend of a friend commented on someone slamming Der Tambourg'selle as "grim". "What do you expect" said Fr of Fr, "The Little Drummer Boy ?"