The woman sitting in front of us in the box at Carnegie Hall may be into opera, but she is clearly no fan of 20th Century atonal music. The first stabs of dissonance from the orchestra leave her shaking her head in absolute negation of what she's hearing, and the chorus trading syllables across vast intervalic gulfs does nothing to help her mood.
As the percussion thunders, rattles, and booms, and the orchestra riffles through the chromatic scale like a drunken man searching through his pockets for his keys, Katie leans over to me. "That woman regrets every decision in her life that brought her here," she whispers.
One year ago: Sicker Than I Thought
Two years ago: Dishwasher Epiphany
Three years ago: Near Miss
Four years ago: Wars and Rumors of Wars
Five years ago: Dressing Up And Annoying The Neighbors