I went to see a performance by Guy Klucevsek and Alan Bern tonight at the Trinity Center in Philadelphia. A couple sat down next to me and had frequent little exchanges, not just during the applause, not just during the spoken introduction to the songs, but during the fucking songs. Each time I thought it would be the last. Dude did not hear me hiss at him, so during the encore (yes, I waited entirely too long) I rapped him on the shoulder and asked him to shut up.
I won’t say it ruined the show for me, but I hate distractions during a concert. This wasn’t my friend’s band at the Khyber with everything turned up to 11. This was 2 guys playing accordions, miked, through a small PA, in a former church sanctuary and attended by perhaps 150 people. And the culprits were well-dressed, upper-class looking folks. I’m hating them even as I think about it now.
The concert itself was wonderful, just in case you wanted to know.
Next time get their address. I do drive-by concertina solos.
When I went to see Yul Brynner in The King and I, the young man sitting behind me began “headphone singing” on the very first song. You know – that high pitched, weak, off key, trembly voice you hope that no one ever hears you sing to yourself?
I whirled completely around in my seat and glared at him.
I was a high school English teacher at the time and had cultivated a glare that could freeze a bonfire. With just one quick look from me, he silenced his warbling mid note. I could see his eyes sink back into his head as his chin melted onto his tie. There were be no sing-along tonight.
I was quite pleased with myself and remember the moment with pride. Now that I’m retired, I should probably offer my services to concerts around town.
There are people who go to concerts and such just because it pleases them to know they do it, that they are persons of taste and discernment who read the arty paper and blah blah. They frequently aren’t all that into the content being presented.
