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When the New York Philharmonic
played my Atlas Eclipticalis
with Winter Music (Electronic
Version), the
audience more or less threw
propriety to the winds.
Many walked out.
Others stayed
to boo.
On Sunday afternoon the lady
sitting next to my mother was
particularly violent.
She disturbed everyone
around her.
When the performance ended,
Mother turned to
her and said,
“I am the composer’s mother.”
The lady said,
“Good Heavens!
Your son’s music is
magnificent!
Would you tell him,
please, how much I loved it?”
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