Also, you of course know where to find my favorite rolled R in the History of the World. Arvo Pärt, …which was the son of…: “which was the son of ERRRRRRRRR”, to be sung exactly thus.

Too, their performance of this at MoMA was I think tighter than the previous night’s show, despite the acoustics in the room, you know, sucking.

But they had Balzac on stage with them, so that was cool.

The Hollywood Bowl – what a fantastic gem that place is. Last year I too fell in love with it, seeing Rufus Wainwright’s Judy Garland concert, as a full moon rose over the trees. Magical place. Once Gustavo Dudamel (another gem) gets there, I want to go back and get a $5 seat on the grass and hear the LA Symphony.

Britten – might I put in a plug for a DVD I just watched, “Benjamin Britten: A Time It Was”, by Tony Palmer. Certainly not comprehensive, actually a very personal look at his life. Wonderful clips of Peter Pears talking and singing, and these dear old England aunts and friends chatting. Very moving, and somewhat sad.

The thing about singing is that when truly transported, one winds up speaking in tongues. I always thought that’s how the cadenza came about. Of course there’s the little problem of losing the listener….

Rhyme is so soothing, so trustworthy. Why do I feel duped? Perhaps it would help if I learned Icelandic.