Beta Sigma Phi's Philosophy

It was the last Lunch Hour Concert of the year. This always takes the form of a competition between four top students at the Conservatorium. This year it was two pianos, a cello and a flute.

The first and second prizes are donated by Beta Sigma Phi, a group of ladies with eighteen hundred dollars to spare. The winner gets twelve hundred dollars and the runner up gets six. The two finalist prizes are donated by the Elder Conservatorium and are worth three hundred dollars each.

By this you can see that the Elder Conservatorium doesn't really like Beta Sigma Phi's philosophy. They could save a hundred and fifty dollars by continuing the diminishment of prize money, but they don't.

This year I thought I'd picked the winner. It was the flute girl. She walked on stage wearing an unbecoming dress. It was long and shiny and several shades of purple, and was gathered unnaturally at the front. Her hair was brown and crinkly, and flat on top. She wore glasses, and carried a flute.

Now this is all very well you are thinking, but the competition is not about looks.

I know.

My reason for mentioning looks is that by the end of her two pieces I was of a different opinion, and thought her hair and dress were quite delightful. Any one who can work that sort of transformation with a flute deserves to win .

But no. My flute girl only got three hundred dollars.

The Sock and Mr Jesus

Another Friday another Lunch Hour Concert. We were expecting a cello and a piano. But the program notes said 'Organ'. Oh yes, a change of program.

The organ music began, the ceiling cracked. It may have been cracked already. You notice things when you are looking up. The organ is high.

Usually that is all there is to do. Look up. But there was a double screen set up on the stage so you could see the organist's shoes on the left and his hands on the right. So I soon forgot the cracks in the ceiling.

The organ music was having even more alarming effects on the audience between me and the screens.

For instance. A man two rows in front developed a hole in the top of his head. It may have been there already. But you notice these things with an organ.

Another man four rows in front performed a peculiar wrinkling shiver from his neck to his crown, through his sparse hair.

A psychology professor looked twenty years younger as his neck became smooth. It may have been like that already. You notice things under an organ.

No one thought the organ music was funny. Except me. Diddle diddle diddly diddly dee....paaarp!
Diddle diddle diddly diddly dee...paaarp! Diddle diddle diddly diddly dee...paaarp!

Don't tell me that's not funny.

One of the pieces James Tibbles played was Herr Jesus hat ein Gartchen. It had five variations, all the same. The notes said the title meant King Jesus hath a Garden. But I beg to differ. That is Mr Jesus hath a Garden.

Two things happened at the end. One, James Tibbles came down the stairs and took a bow.
So we could see him.

Two, I asked my mum how it had been and she said not very good I don't like organ music. Did you have your hearing aids in? I asked and she said No, that would have been a hundred times worse.

Three, as I was getting up out of my seat, I saw that the person in front had left a brightly striped sock on the floor.

One too many things.

Double Stops

It was time to wake up, but Haydn's musical idea intrigued me.

What are double stops? I asked him.

They are like nose cones, said Haydn, playfully. They temporarily stop the flow, so to speak. You make them by placing a finger across two strings at once and plucking them.

Oh yuck! I said, Two strings of what?

Your violin, said Haydn, looking serious again. Would you like to hear the beginning of my tune?

No, I said. Oh.... alright. Hum it. But first, have you got a handkerchief?

Of course, I never go anywhere without one. Now, listen. It's a string quartet :

The first violin goes: Mmmmmm-huh.....mmm-huh...mmmmmmm-huh...Double stop! Double stop! Eeeeeeeeeee!
The second violin joins in: Nnnnnnnnn-huh....nnn-huh...nnnnnnnnnn-huh... Double stop! Double stop! Lah lah lah!
Then the viola: Sniffety-sneeee! Sniffety-sneeeeee! Oo-oo-ooh!
And finally the cello: Chooooh-achooh-achooh! Double stop! Double stop! Achooooh!

He stopped. How do you like it so far? he asked.

I like it! I replied. It's very up-to-date.

That's me, said Haydn. Up-to-date.

I'm going to an up-to-date musical thing tonight at the Science Exchange, I said. Perhaps you'd like to come?

I'm already going, said Haydn.

Proles

Another Lunch Hour Concert yesterday. I make a habit of choosing an inappropriate seat.

My mother's friend was there. I led us forward to three seats on the second row.

The concert was performed by Stefan Ammer on the piano and Rachel Johnson on the cello. First they played Brahms. I was very happy listening to the Brahms. Usually I don't like Brahms all that much. I always think of that Warren Mitchell film where Brahms eats sardines straight out of the can, wearing mittens.

But this was far from sardiney. I like the cello. If I were a musical instrument, I would be a cello. However, at the end of the piece my mother whispered, "That was so loud! I'll have to take my hearing aids out." I turned to her friend. "It's nice to be so near the stage, isn't it." "Yes," she nodded. " You hardly have to crick your neck at all." I'd forgotten that she only came up to my shoulder, sitting down.

Next it was the Shostakovitch. I like Shostakovich. But I began to wonder if we should have been sitting further back. I decided, since I was the only one enjoying being in the second row I would concentrate all the harder. Shostakovitch's Sonata for Cello and Piano in D minor. It was the one which pokes fun at the Prolekult, in the finale. I was waiting for that bit.

Waiting, waiting. Suddenly I realised that, far from listening to the largo, I was trying to multiply 15 by 15 in my head. This was to see whether I had cheated my mother earlier by asking for $2.80 for 15 photographs at a cost of 15 cents each. You fool, I said to myself. You can calculate 15 x 15 any time, while the music is but fleeting. So I paid attention until the end. Yes, it was very plinky-plonky. But I wondered whether I would have picked up the vitriolic sarcasm of Shostakovitch's dig at the Proles, if I hadn't read the program notes.

"That was lovely," said my mother at the end. "It was so much better with my hearing aids out."

"Wouldn't it be marvellous to play a musical instrument," said her friend.

As for me, I forgot all about 15 x 15 until now. I've just worked it out on a slip of paper. It appears to be a lot less than I thought.