Last week I rhapsodized (a bit) on the irreplaceable value of live music as the means by which we experience the personality of the performers. In a good performance a bond is created between listener and performer, binding them together in the act of mutual meditation through communication on a particular theme or subject. The performer gives something to his listeners and the audience receives that gift, reflects on it, and augments it with a responsive understanding. At least, that’s the way it is supposed to play out in a perfect world. But what are we supposed to think of all those sub-stellar performances we have been forced to sit through? Anyone who has played an instrument in junior high knows what I’m referring to as he or she not only sat through such a performance, but also forced a certain aural martyr-hood upon his or her parents.
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