“You came on the wrong night,” he whispered conspiratorially to me. “Tonight's programme focuses on the Principal Players of the orchestra. You will seldom get to see the full orchestra in action tonight.”

Pause.

“Anyway, why are you here? I thought you were only interested in the piano.”

“I wanted to know how Er Hu players make such a sad melody from their instruments. Did they just have a sad childhood, or is it the snake skin?”

“Well, the Er Hu has a competitive advantage over other instruments, in sounding sad,” he replied, in a somewhat matter-of-fact way. As if it were an unsurprising development in the world, as everyday an occurence as a cloud that passes by the sky. Or the ants that come near my favourite cookies. But back to music.

After the performance ended, I overheard an audience member ask the Principal Player: “the piece was meant to highlight the Henan region in China – the people, and their dances, and their music. I'm from that region myself, and I found your performance very moving. I thought you portrayed it very well. May I know how you did your research?”

Pause.

“Well, when I was performing with another orchestra, the orchestra's leader was the very same composer who wrote the piece. I had the opportunity and privilege to ask him, musical phrase by musical phrase, what he wanted to say through his composition.”

That reminds me of a saying, passed down from one craftsperson to another:

Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.

Question for myself: what preparations am I making for the future, right now?

But, this must be balanced with wisdom. As a proverb goes:

Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

• from the Biblical book of Proverbs, chapter 19, verse 21

Well, at least the Principal Player was honest about his diligence.

Let me conclude this blog post with a poem from the performance programme yesterday.

Seeing off Yuan Junior on a Mission to Anxi.

Morning raindrops blanket the dust of Wei City and this guesthouse — and these lush green willows — I insist you drink one more cup of wine to the West beyond Yang Pass, no old friends in sight.

To see the poem in the original Tang-dynasty Chinese language (which was in use in the approximate time period of 618 AD to 907 AD), please head there (the page beyond includes advertisements):

https://www.arteducation.com.tw/shiwenv_12a2295aa76b.html

• fin

#PostPerformanceThoughts

Of course, the behind-the-scenes crew, and not just the cast, are outstanding in their individual and collective genius – time does not suffice to list all their luminary contributions. Included in the crew are Rayann Condy (as Intimacy Director), and Matt Hutchinson (in the department of Puppets, Puppetry Design & Direction). And Lee Yew Jin (sound design), and Peps Goh (fight-choreography).

I would like to highlight the physical space as another actor in its (her?) own right. The venue is Fort Canning Park. As the sun lowered itself behind skyscrapers – which, in the blue light of dusk, glowed softly with a thousand electric lights – a couple of large birds (wildlife, not props) soared above the greenery. “Eagles,” my companion-for-the-evening said. What a strange sound they are making, I thought. I've never heard them vocalise before.

The show started after the emcee (CEO?) had thanked corporate sponsors profusely, and had invited the audience to donate generously.

Dusk gave way to night. Clouds obscured the myriad stars in the heavens above. And, upon the poor humans' perspiration-coated bodies, the outdoor air pressed in, like a heavy gloved hand, moist with extreme tropical humidity. The threat of mosquitoes was on humans' minds: tickling one's nostrils was the smell of mosquito-repelling fluid.

Suddenly, mid-way through the first half of the 90-minute performance, raindrops started falling into the electricity-illuminated night. Cue umbrellas from audience members: umbrellas, which, of course, blocked the view of people behind them, but where I was seated, no one complained – perhaps a testament to the gripping drama unfolding on stage.

The raindrops ceased. Lady Macbeth had gone on a monologue throughout the brief shower.

I should highlight the clever use of lighting: an illuminated platform underneath the sand-covered stage, lit sometimes blue in colour, and sometimes orange. If one covers the lights with layers of sand, the set looks like a desert scene, straight out of the sci-fi Dune movies. But wipe the sand away (mobilising a crew-member with a manual tool), and the orange glow, from the glowing platform beneath, looks like a horrible image of Hellfire as the witches cackle and preen before the anxious Macbeth: “Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn / The power of man, for none of woman born / Shall harm Macbeth.” (Act 4, Scene 1).

I loved the group-dances and the salutes. And derived pleasure from the “prayers” in an unfamiliar language – I wonder if the language was created just for this production, like how a new language has been created for the blue aliens in James Cameron's film, “Avatar”.

Overall, it was a night that I savoured.

#PostPerformanceThoughts #acting

The combined forces were impressive. More than 80 choir members glided onto the stage, clothed in black, as if they were wraiths, now summoned to writhe before the Final Judge, before whom no one can be found blameless.

And I, a shame-faced mortal, sat with my flesh, (which is unceasingly beset with attacks of urine and excrement), awaiting the Strings section to stab the air with dramatic statements of tension and unease.

Sudden moments of gaiety punctuated the 90-minute Symphony, as if a butterfly in a remote rainforest was dancing over a sweetly-decaying pile of jaguar's dung, while, far away, bloodthirsty pimple-faced urban teenagers, armed with knives, clashed over rival-gang territory, in a neglected street, in a rubbish-strewn city.

Beauty in chaos. The sun stares down blankly on the smoking aftermath of an earthquake in Bangkok. Cries of despairing humans flare into the unseen recesses of Cyber-space.

From behind stage doors, an unseen Brass section plays a eerie melody over a desolate rubble of civilisation.

Suddenly the Pipe Organ bursts into life! All choruses and Strings join the triumphant blast! The night has passed, the Dawn-light has come! The Morning Star did not deceive this solitary individual, in her promise of more light to come! Unstoppable, undefeatable light!

The audience leaps to their feet, erupting into cries of “Bravo!” The applause lingers, and then melts into the humid night air as urine-laden humans file out of the concert hall.

Tonight, what change will I see in the Moon? Yesterday's moon is dead, while tomorrow's moon is not yet born.

This world is not my home.

As Marcus Aurelius said, “soon you will be like Hadrian: nobody and nowhere”. (circa 180 A.D.)

And, as Paulo Coelho wrote in The Alchemist: “The wise men understood that this natural world is only an image and a copy of Paradise. The existence of this world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world that is perfect. God created the world so that, through its visible objects, men could understand His spiritual teachings and the marvels of His wisdom.” (circa 1988 A.D.)

Who can have enough penetrating insight to see through the veil that encloses this entire cosmos?

Image Credit

Gustav Klimt. (1910). “Death and Life”. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

References

1. https://www.standard.co.uk/hp/front/mad-about-mahler-6843588.html
2. https://www.esplanade.com/whats-on/2025/mahlers-resurrection-symphony#synopsis
3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Graf

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