Backstage after Pierrot last Thursday:
“Wow, that was seriously sucky.”
“Yeah, could I PLAY more wrong notes?”
“Um…what? I thought that was pretty awesome, actually…”
“What concert were you performing at? It was poopty!”
“The. Same. One. I think?”
“I also thought it went pretty fabulously.”
Sometimes we fiercely agree on the quality of a performance. Our concert in Denver, for instance, generated a pretty positive reaction amongst the troops. On other occasions we agree that a momentous crime against art has occurred, and our trip to the pub is one of commiseration rather than celebration.
More rarely, we radically disagree: “Schwantner was too fast” - “I felt like it dragged”; “Donatoni was a mess” - “I reckon we did justice to the whacky Italian weirdo tonight”.
Sometimes the acoustic is patchy; sometimes we’re not in a good mood; sometimes we are artificially buouyed by playing hard passages correctly; sometimes the audience enthusiasm affects us differently. Sometimes it’s just a bloody mystery.
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