Flowery old Chopin

This post refers to Prom 29

Passed up the opportunity to go to the Proms. D had a spare ticket available. “I want to be at home,” I apologised, “Sorry. Another time.” I was, looking a gift horse in the mouth. Shame.

Not an especially demanding day. Just an annoying one. Mis-targeted communications, endless emails, annoying telephone calls and extremely uncomfortable face to face conversations even if neither party really understood why. (Was even complimented on appearing “hunky”. Its amazing how well a small black T-shirt can hide a sagging chest and a widening waistline.) Self-awareness is a great thing, so too being sensitive to the needs of others, but jeeze can be a real pain in the butt. (Actually, I’m proud of that quality. It would just also be quite nice if a little more water could roll off my back a little more often.)

Listening to Ben Grosvenor’s Chopin Piano Concerto No.1. Chopin is ridiculously flowery. Hadn’t realised I had such strong feelings about it until this evening. So much embellishment added to his melodies. Attention-seeking bluster depicting a twee lamp-lit melodrama. All fur coat and no knickers. Distinctly unsatisfying work. It promises something pleasant but delivers something altogether more bland instead.

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