The entire town of Ann Arbor is swept by an impending snowstorm that is perpetually hanging yet never really arriving. The weather report says, flurries will be coming in 12—12 minutes later, nothing comes. Again, severe weather will be forthcoming this weekend—in reality, nothing really happens except for the eternally overcast firmament. Henceforth the entire town is reek with this imminent threat of a so-called snowstorm, and with the inertia to go for a walk, as the lack of impetus to go for a walk is further sensitized by the lack of sunlight.

Jan 4: my phone announces the date that this pic was being born.
In other words, I haven’t seen sun for the past 8 days (today is Jan 12).

I’m tired of hearing myself whining. Or talking about the seasonal disorder instigated by real darkness.

What I’m truly heartened to discuss is this incredibly ingenious reading of a favorite work of mine:

Steven Isserlis, Teodor Currentzis & MCO: Shostakovich - Cello Concerto No.1 in E flat Major.

I talked about the memorability of our auditory experiences: the state of mind that we dwell in when we listen, the energy in the surroundings, our reaction incited by the listening, and the metamorphosis that we undergo or that we feel like we have undergone.

An auditory experience can be as bland as amnesia, e. g. can’t wait for the piece to end, can’t wait to leave this damn concert hall, or can’t wait to go back to sleep.

I’m not talking about this sort of auditory memory.

I messaged a friend, expressing my total ecstasy by this performance:

This is the MOST intelligent Shostakovich I’ve ever heard.

What I mean by “intelligent”: full of wits. Shanghainese prefers to describe as “老灵了,” meaning exceptionally ingenious, outstanding, sharp, and insightful.

In 2019, the last concert of Boston Symphony in the season—that’s why it’s memorable; of course, it’s also because Daniil Trifonov was playing Rach 3 in the first half—Andris Nelsons live-recorded Shostakovich 15th in the hall. I’m ashamed to say that that concert is as unmemorable as a vegetable. I’m not even sure if they were playing the 15th or the 14th or the 12th (not Babi Yar because of no chorus).

I first heard this cello concerto being performed around the same time at the New England Conservatory by a friend. During the final ovation, I handed a beautiful bouquet that I bought beforehand. My heart was full that night. When I talked to them in the post-concert reception, I was humming the pickup that has been weaved throughout the entire work. They call this an unforgettable experience.

Maybe one day when I relearn the piece again, I will reminisce upon my elation of encountering a great performance amongst complaints of weather.

Whereas Tony Soprano doesn’t hesitate to remind us of another time-immemorial rule of thumb:

Remember when is the lowest form of conversation.

Humming the pickup

Blue Crabs

“Anatomy of a fall”