The music was fidgety arch, an orchestral version of a twang. Welcome to a tonal hell! Welcome to the execution of a theory. I kept thinking, thinking, thinking I hadn't felt a thing. Was it old-fashioned of me to want to, or were feelings, as usual, part of the problem. The conductor seemed to flail more than lead his baton, evidence of something unresolved. Perhaps recent trouble at home. And though I liked the chalice, especially the way she held her instrument. Unless you had a taste for unhappiness. You didn't want to look at the first violinist's face, my wife whispered to me, this music is better than it sounds.