I never got round to writing a review of Berlioz, Saint-Saens and Vienna which I attended last Saturday. The Guardian sums my feelings perfectly. It was enjoyable, but nothing special. The Berlioz, actually, was crap, the programme note being a greater work of art that thrilled me more than the actual music.
Jimmy enjoyed the second half - Vienna - but didn't think much of the first. Admittedly, we had bad seats - circle, on the extreme right end, with half of our view obscured by the acoustic canopy. Th eorgan was less exciting than any other outing this year.
In the Ladies afterwards were a mother and daughter (late teens) just in front of me. It was their first Prom; I suspect it may have been the daughter's first 'proper' concert. They were enthusiastic in their use of superlatives. I was thinking "Gosh your expectations are low..." but I'm not a nasty person, so I said, "You know, when you've been once it becomes habit forming..." The daughter looked at me with awe and asked "Are you going to every one?" "No," I replied. "About ten or twelve..." Actually it's nine, or eight if you exclude the one I skived.
But it's more than habit forming. It's addictive...
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