beetrock

The fabulous Myer Lemon and I recently spent an evening at the symphony. What fun. Lincoln Center overall is extremely confusing. There are the remote opera houses, the two movie theatres, Juilliard, and a range of random buildings standing about without purpose and thus presenting plenty of opportunity for getting lost and missing your show. And all the buildings, I feel, are equally nondescript. I’ve been to many of them several times and have a hard time recalling where they are and how they look on the inside. I guess, I am a poor theatergoer and culture event seeker. But Myer Lemon has faith in me; that’s why she called me the night before the show in panic and sought my company.

The show was at the Avery Fisher Hall. There is also an Alice Tully Hall. I mean, is that only confusing to me? And who are these Averys and Alices? Were they all friends? But I digress. The program for the night included Schubert, Schoenberg, Rachmaninoff, Ravel, and a New York Philharmonic debut from a flashy Venezuelan pianist Gabriela Montero. Flashy is exactly the word, since that’s how ads for her CDs look in the Playbill. Apparently even in classical music one doesn’t get far without cleavage. Schubert was mild and sweet and Schoenberg was total cacophony of hysteria. The 19-minute piece was 17 minutes too long. Lemon and I had to recoup by chugging wine during the intermission and talking smack about men in suits nearby. The symphony is perfect for talking smack. There are all kinds of people here and most of them are wearing something outrageous, which is reason enough for a game of fashion patrol. Also the space is small enough to eavesdrop on people’s conversations and make fun of them for being overly stiff.

Slightly tipsy we managed to make the bathroom and be back to our seats in time for Rachmaninoff. Here is where the Venezuelan pianist showed up. She was tall and pretty and her cleavage was decently covered. Throughout the performance I couldn’t help but be distracted by her fixing her hair constantly; must be the new style of piano playing they teach only south of the border. Overall Rachmaninoff went nicely, at first with a slight disconnect between the pianist and the orchestra.

Though I have my complaints about the Lincoln Center, I love the Symphony and truly appreciate the Lemon picking me as her accomplice.