The Ultimate Peter Principle?

What happens when someone's promoted beyond his or her skills? We learn something about this from the fate of Caius Marcius (sometimes Gaius, sometimes Martius), later Caius Marcius Coriolanus.

Marcius, one of Rome's greatest generals, is successful in war: eminently successful in Rome. He is so successful in war that he's nominated for Consul. Marcius protests that he has not the skill nor the temperament to be Consul. Various of his friends, allies, and family—especially is power-hungry mother, Volumina—persist.

Marcius fails to tame his temper and his tongue, and is banished from Rome. He allies himself with one of Rome's enemies and, eventually, is murdered by those enemies.

Is Marcius's death because of his changing allegiances? his eventual susceptibility to his mother's entreaties? to his inability to acquire the new skills needed as a politician? to his pride?

As an aside, Volumina reminds me of Julia, Caligula's grandmother.

Seats and Symphonies

I used to think I just listened to the music at a concert. Maybe at a rock concert there would be interesting enough stage antics that weren't simply foolish to make the watching worthwhile. At most folk concerts, we could sing along. But at a classical concert, I sat and I listened.

Then I sat in really good seats, and I was hooked to an entire new experience at the symphony. And it was more than just the obvious of being able to see the individual performers and the conductor better.

By sitting close, the sound changes. From the back of an Orchestra section or from the balconies, the orchestra is so far away that it becomes a point source. Up close, there's magnificent spatial separation: the basses are there, and the cellos are here, and the clarinet and oboe and English horn are there, there, and there.

By sitting close, you get to see the emotions play over the faces and bodies and mannerisms of the musicians and the conductor. (At Davies, in the Chorus Benches section, you're behind the orchestra, so, yes, you can see the conductor's face!)

By sitting close, you get to become almost part of the performance. From my usual row G center, and from the row E near-center for the Dvořák the other night, the emotional experience of the concert changes. I can begin to engage with the performers in a manner beyond the audio, even beyond the visual.

I like sitting close!

SF Symphony - Dvořák’s Cello Concerto

Alisa Weilerstein joined the SF Symphony last night to play Dvořák’s Cello Concerto. Her performance was inspiring and moving: she exhibited a very wide range of emotions as she played and in her playing. At the opening of the third movement, as her entrance approached, Weilerstein gathered herself together looking like she was ready to devour the piece. At other times, her playing was sensuous and passionate. During the first movement, it was as though she was making love, with her cello, to the music. She was playful, serious, intense, relaxed, as the music moved her.

Wonderful performance.

On Shakespearean Insanity

What is it about the transition from sanity to insanity in Shakespeare's greatest dramas—the Scottish play, Othello, Merchant of Venice, King Lear, e.g.—that we find so fascinating? Certainly, those transitions are among the draws, for the audience, for the player: is it believable?

How can one play Othello, for example, and make the audience believe that the great general, in command of armies, the public, accolades, and himself, descends into such insanity that he destroys that which he most loves?

I look forward to seeing what OSF does with the tragedy of the Moor.