Thank You Bruce!
Route 302 always feels kind of like a rollercoaster to me. It twists and turns. It goes up and down. There are quick bumps, long downhill stretches, and steep inclines. And, most of the time, the northern end of the road is completely barren of people.
The town of Wilmington, CT does a reasonable job trying to keep everyone driving up there in line. I mean, how could you not be careful when there’s a speed limit sign every 50 yards? Oddly, though, it’s not always the same number…
I was late, so I was probably going too fast. It was dark, much darker than it gets even in the suburbia of my home, and I had my high-beams on. My radio was blasting The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner as I sang along. I know every word and ever note on that album.
As I approached route 44, my ride on the rollercoaster was over, for the time being. I would get to ride it back home. The bright lights of CVS shone in the distance, and I called my sister. “I have reached the point where the roads meet.” She had called earlier and told me to call her when I got to route 44. She said she was on her way to get Carla and they’d meet me at the door.
My sister, Sa (or Sarah if you, you know, want to know her actual name), had invited me (ME!) to come down to UConn to see the King’s Singers with her. My sister, who used to punch me in the arm, wanted to spend time with me. My sister, who I hated until she was 18 and I was 20, thought of me when she found out that the world premier a cappella group was coming to her school. Let’s just say I was excited.
Sa and Carla did in fact meet me at the door to their dorm. They plopped down into the seats of my car, and told me where to go. It’s not that I’ve never been to Jorgensen, it’s that I am very, very good at getting lost. For that matter, when I got to their dorm and saw them in the doorway, I raised my arms up in triumph, as I had found the right building!
Much to their dismay, we ended up parking in the garage. They’re students, and prefer to save money over all other things. I’m lazy and I prefer to take the easy way out and pay the price. (In this case, the price turned out to be free, as all of the gates were open on the way in and out. So, Sa, if you’re reading this, you had nothing to worry about.)
There’s a manhole cover in front of Jorgensen auditorium that has always, in my memory, been steaming. It doesn’t matter the temperature outside, steam and water vapor pour out of this manhole cover. Oddly, there’s another manhole cover not more than 10 feet away that never steams. I don’t know what’s down there. I probably don’t want to know.
Sa had apparently handed Carla the tickets. As we approached the doors (still 5 minutes before curtain, I wasn’t too late!), Sarah reached for them. Carla, obviously not paying attention, just handed all three back to Sarah. Much laughing, and Sarah gives Carla and I each a ticket. After the stub was ripped off by the usher, I glanced at the seat number and row to get an idea of where we were going.
BB 8
I blinked a few times, and looked again.
BB 8
“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered as we walked towards the front of the auditorium, along the runs of carpet that are probably as old as the 50 year old building. My sister grinned as we approached the second row. She told me to thank Bruce. “Who’s Bruce. I didn’t just meet him… I met… Dan?” She had introduced me to a couple people who were picking up their tickets at the window as we entered the theatre.
“I used Bruce’s student ID to buy your ticket.”
“Thank you Bruce!”
After a discussion with the usher to figure out which seat was which (they weren’t numbered), we sat down. I looked up at the stage, which sat without adornment. The only things there were six music stands, arranged in a semi-circle. A brief announcement to turn off our cell phones came over the loudspeakers, and then the house lights went dim.
The King’s Singers were all wearing the same dark grey suit. They each had on a different colored tie: pink, green, blue, orange, red, and yellow. They started right away with an upbeat tune in Italian. Their facial expressions told me that it was funny and that I should laugh… but I didn’t know what they were saying. After they finished, the gentleman in the pink tie gave us a description of the “non-pc Italian madrigal.” My sister leaned over and said, “I love madrigals!”
They continued with the six song set of Italian madrigals, with the pink tie narrating. It didn’t seem to matter that I don’t know Italian, save a few words. Their explanation and facial expressions told me everything I needed to know.
The next set was only one song. It was written by an American composer, though the text was Japanese. Jackson Hill’s “Remembered Love, Unforgotten Dreams” was by far my favorite piece of the night. I may not have been able to understand the words, but I understood the music and the lyric. It was ethereal and had large amounts of eastern influence. I don’t know what else to do to describe it. The base melody is still ringing in my ears. I hope I can find it on iTunes.
The third set was in French, and also included some non-PC tunes. The intermission followed, and after following my sister as she wandered around looking for her roommate, we sat back down (unsuccessful). The piece that followed intermission was Paul Drayton’s “Masterpiece.” I believe it was the green tie who introduced this piece. He told us that it was a modest title for a modest piece with modest ambitions to describe the last 400 years of music history in nine minutes. It did so. I’ll let you know when recordings are available – they haven’t released that piece yet. You should really hear this one for yourself. It is amazingly outrageous and outrageously amazing.
They ended the night with some pop tunes. A couple of Simon and Garfunkle, one by Queen, and a couple by the Beatles. My favorite of those was “Blackbird.” I’ve heard a lot of covers of that song. This is now my favorite. It was amazing. During this set, some of the singers were doing some light vocal percussion (think I-8 before Julia taught us how to spit). I leaned over to my sister and said my only negative comment of the night: “They could use to spit a little more.”
My quick-witted sister responded immediately, “Well, duh… they’re British!”
After a standing ovation, our multi-colored-tie-wearing friends came back on stage to do one more song. They made a few jokes about doing songs in Greek, songs with the word “Jorgensen” in them, and “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” Turns out that last one was less of a joke, as they started singing it. In Italian. It was hilarious.
I was sad when the house lights turned on and the stage door shut for good. We walked out to the lobby, where Sa found that “Masterpiece” was not yet available to buy. She introduced me to a variety of people whose names I’m sure to have forgotten, and we left the building. Sarah and Carla were off to the movies, and I had to go home lest I turn into a pumpkin (I’m so old!). I hugged her and thanked her for inviting me. I said goodbye to Carla, walked past the steaming manhole cover, and back to my car. My drive home wasn’t full of any particular excitement. Though I did get to ride the rollercoaster of route 302 again.