The violinist suddenly raises his head for the audience to see, and a murmur of startled silence sweeps the small, crowded room. He points his bow at the staring eyes and pauses to whisper a prayer; and with a dramatic gesture he swings his bow into the dusty air to gracefully land on the dull strings. Subtlety he draws the bow, shattering the ears into ecstasy. The “A” glides around the quivering ears, sneaking into shadows and licking quiet corners.
And he’s only tuning the bloody thing.
– Montreal, October 5, 1989
(Yeah, I’m posting random stuff from my old notebooks. I don’t know why. Probably becauseis, too.)