A Bowl of Porridge

It was a nice surprise to be fed breakfast by the good folks at Ground-Up Initiative (GUI). Somebody cooked porridge. Vegetarian of course, chockfull of mushrooms and carrots. It looked really good, but I was very pai-seh to take a bowl as the food really, was for the volunteers and staff for the day. A bowl was merrily scooped out for me, with the condiments and seasoning ingredients all sorted at the side. Pepper and soy sauce. It was a delicious brunch. The communal dining spirit was well and alive.

In existence since 2008, GUI moved thrice to current Lorong Chencharu premise (right next to 'Orto', the old Bottle Tree Park, its carpark, to be precise). The new 2.6-ha non-profit started up by Tay Lai Hock began small and dreamt big. It has been plodding steadily, one brick at a time to build its Kampung, an eco-village, offering volunteers and the public an opportunity to build a community from scratch. From time to time, usually on the first Sunday of the month, they hold an organic pasar for us to buy some vegetables and cleaning enzymes.

Donations, sponsorships and funding are always welcome, but volunteers are crucially needed too. Volunteers put in hard work of course, to build sustainable architecture, sanitation, maintain and clean the surroundings, tend to the vegetable plots, understand the interaction of our food and land, and take ownership of our space. There're many enthusiastic students who clock up CIP hours (Community Involvement Programme) at GUI. Young adults and seniors are needed too, especially when they can offer various areas of expertise as builders and crafters to solidify these visions.

The people I met at GUI are dedicated, passionate, focused and very clear-headed. It was an absolute pleasure chatting with them. It's really awesome to hear their vision for this Kampung Kampus. If you haven't been there, take some time to do more than visit. Get down muddy and sweaty. We don't need air-conditioning all the time. Okay, unless your allergies are terrible, committing hours to build the Kampung is well worth your time and good for your spirit. As averse to human interaction as I am, I couldn't help being infected by the genuine sense of camaraderie and focus that morning.

At the sink, as I scooped a spoonful of camellia seed powder (or tea seed powder) to wash the utensils, I grinned. It's been a while since I've used it. The last usage was on a trek out around Puget Sound in WA. While I know about green alternatives to our usual chemical cleaning agents, I've never used any on a regular basis. Never put thought into wondering, why not. Not sure those eco-friendly products I buy off the shelves or online are all that friendly. Green living has definitely not permeated my life except existing as some sort of hip must-do in some aspects. Ran fingers around the insides of the bowl and spoon. Granted, porridge doesn't generally leave an oily residue, but the plastic-resin bowl was spanking clean. Plant saponin is a natural de-greaser. It worked beautifully.

Pangdemonium's 'Tribes'

Google will enlighten you on all matters pertaining the plot of Nina Raine's 2010 'Tribes'. Much to do with the usual dynamics of a dysfunctional family with very standard diverse characters. The play highlights the complexities of communicating with loved ones, and the prejudices of society against deaf community.

Great acting by the cast. A solid storyline, of course. Fabulous interpretation of the script, keeping the wit and humor, and underlying pain. It wasn't unenjoyable, but it's still a storyline that doesn't appeal to me. Family dynamics, love and all. No. They're precisely why I don't bother watching soapies. It doesn't matter even if the acting good. Good actors simply make watching it way more bearable. But the friends see it necessary to include these plays as part of my continuous education. So I sat through Pangdemonium's staging of 'Tribes' and liked it.

It was really nice to see sign-language interpreters at the some of the shows. When a theatre company lacks hearing-impaired actors or scheduling conflicts arise, I suppose an alternative is to make a commitment and have a production partner in The Singapore Association for the Deaf to train the actors, and have them understand the daily challenges faced.

Multi-media artist Brian Gothong Tan gave the surtitles a three-dimensional treament. They didn't just run across the screen. They became thought bubbles or simply floated. It emphasized how different feelings really were in our heads and hearts as opposed to speaking them aloud, and how much others would understand beyond speech. To that, it goes further than reflecting the challenges of the deaf community. It is also social norms and socio-political sentiments at play.

NUDE Seafood

Finally went to NUDE Seafood for lunch for a few consecutive meals. Hahaha. Kept hearing good things about it since November but no meetings brought me close to the MBFC area at the right timings for a meal. This month, I have a whole stretch of morning meetings in Raffles Place and Asia Square, leaving the afternoons or lunch free. Woohooo. NUDE doesn't do reservations for lunch, but it does it for dinner. Peak lunch hour sees walk-ins only. Fine by me. I could simply chope a table at 11.50am and wait for the friends to hop in at noon. Not too frazzling.

Loved the menu. Totally my kind of food. If I work in the CBD, I'd likely eat at NUDE all the time. :P Was really curious about the herb-grilled King prawns, but that week I was still nursing swollen lips from allergies. Had to pass and take the fish. The portions were fine for me. Had a hickory-smoked salmon on forgotten grains, cucumber with goma sauce and greens. Those grains were made up of unpolished red rice with chickpeas, cucumber, tomato, sunflower seeds, and oats. Very yummy. Heh. More or less what I eat at home. Of all the fish here, I love the red snapper most. It's sprinkled with a touch of freshly grated parmesan. Red snapper with smoked tomato puree on cous cous, greens and pumpkin seeds. Don't mind the cous cous because of the smoked tomato purée. Brilliant touch. But I prefer the bite of their 'forgotten grains'.

Coffee is currently supplied by Common Man Coffee Roasters, which makes it easy to have a cup of coffee here before or after lunch. By 1.15pm, tables would have emptied and if we want to linger, we needn't feel guilty hogging a table. However, on rainy days, they do run out of food by 2.15pm- ish. So go early. It's intentionally done so as to keep ingredients as fresh as possible, with a second shipment of fresh supplies later on for dinner prep. The other day we returned at 2pm for a late meal and a coffee. There were only two choices left for a hot meal. It was hilarious because on this stormy day, by 2.45pm, they even ran out of coffee and had to turn away customers who came in for an afternoon shot of caffeine.

Fav fish in the joint- the red snapper. 

The Projector

Too consumed by work and other assorted activities, the man and I rarely catch movies at the theatres. It's even worse trying to date the friends to do so when all of us run on different schedules. We simply buy stuff off of iTunes and all that and watch it whenever, or trawl through various selections of inflight movies. Made time to go to The Projector to watch Ivan Kavanagh's 2014 'The Canal' that wasn't too B-grade; the scariest scene was the creepy and bloody dirty toilets. Also caught Hal Hartley's final film that wrapped up a decade and a half's saga- his 2014 'Ned Rifle'. Surely you'd have caught 1997 'Henry Fool' and 2006 'Fay Grim'. Those were uhh grim and full of mystery.

This final film is unlike the other two. It's slightly more...introspective and in that sense, less exciting. Quite an apt finale to a long-hinted-at trilogy. You don't exactly need to watch the previous films to understand the third although references are there. With the addition of Susan in the storyline, played by Aubrey Plaza, 'Ned Rifle' could stand alone because it focused on Ned, and less on the backstory There's hardly any mention of Ned in 'Fay Grim' almost a decade ago. He was supposed to be only seven then. In this film, he's 18, played by Liam Aiken. Although I was underwhelmed, this concluding film didn't disappoint. (Reviews here, here, here and here.)

While The Projector has been refurbished and given a new coat of paint, it still isn't plush, retaining its slightly gritty and super old-school image. Why not? We don't need all cinemas to be lux and gleaming. The cafe serves up pretty decent brews from Tiong Hoe, offering beer, pizza and shoyu butter popcorn. It's a good place to chill out before a movie. If you drive, park at Level 5, look for Speak Cryptic's wall art in a corner that would lead you to the back of the cinema at the restrooms. Any other floor might take you on a merry stroll around Golden Mile Tower which holds some creepy shops. (Can't believe that there's a youtube video on directions.) Speak Cryptic's trademark masked wall figures lend cheer to the area and keep you company in the stairwells. Follow them down to the foyer entrance. As brightly lit the restrooms are, I love how they have that desolate feel. Woohooo. Kinda atmospheric for horror movies.

So pleased that we now have something similar to London's Curzon (well, minus the home cinema subscription). How awesome to convert it from the old Golden Theatre into this incarnation of The Projector. It showed a series of Stanley Kubrick's films earlier in January. They've got recent releases, oldies and repeat goodies. The man wanted to re-watch Terry Gilliam's 'Brazil', for the fourth time since 1985. I wasn't keen. Watching it twice was enough.

People, go catch some films at The Projector. Keep it going. We've been wanting a cinema like this for years, and now it's in existence, don't let it shut down.

Hypo-ETE Concentration Districts

Stumbled upon a new unread single in the Kindle. Oh dear. I've got many unread physical books. Now e-books too. Eeeks. Jess Walter's 'Don't Eat Cat'. I didn't mind the author's other novels, especially 'Over Tumbled Graves'.

'Don't Eat Cat' describes a world in 2040 where zombies are kinda integrated into everyday living. Zombies are made by people taking club drug 'Replexen' and apparently could be hired to do mundane jobs. It's set in Seattle and when 'Starbucks Financial' popped up, I knew it would be nothing else but corny. And oh, apparently we're not supposed to call zombies 'zombies'. It's a bad word. Call them "unfortunate sufferers of hypo-endocrinal-thyro-encephalitis". Or 'hypo-ETE'. The ending was a bit of a let-down, but otherwise a cool little read over lunch that was a welcome pause to the madness of a work-day.

The e-short took all of 15 minutes to read, even at a really slow pace. It's really too short to talk about the matter of the curious relationship of protagonist Owen and the break-up with his girlfriend Marci. She took 'Replexen' and left him. After two years, he finally went into a Hypo-ETE Concentration District to look for her. The e-book isn't long enough to discuss sickness of the human psyche or the state of the environment. People were frustrated by reproduction and intelligence laws that seemingly set them on a path of life dictated from birth. Hahah. I couldn't help sniggering at that.

My guess was that Marci had disappeared into what was starting to be called Z Town. And if that was the case, of course, I was too late. Seattle was one of the worst cities for derelict zombies—old Fremont had been turned over to the hardcore clubs, brothels, and shooting galleries, to bars that supposedly released rodents during happy hour—places that made Andrew's shitty club seem like a Four Seasons. 

For two years after that, I waited for Marci to come back. But it wasn't until my last doctor's appointment and the bad news I got it—it wasn't until after Brando snapped and the death of that poor zombie girl—that I finally felt compelled to go to Z Town and look for her, for the only woman I have ever loved. 

The first documented zombie attack in months triggered by Owen yelling at a zombie Starbucks barista for burning his latte, and culminating in a vigilante zombie attack. Points and comments on society were underdeveloped. Kinda fluffy. I suppose this is what an e-short can't quite do for certain stories. There isn't much space to elaborate. A quick read. And about the cat. In this world, zombies love eating cats. The mere mention of the word turn their brains into mush. I would have loved to hear some more talk about zombies and cats.

But four days after the Starbucks Financial incident, Apocalpytics began protesting Starbucks Financial headquarters, and the company announced the complete suspension of its zombie retraining program, which got the hypo-ETE activists and support groups going again about the 60 percent zombie unemployment rate. Then worst of all, some vigilantes came to Seattle from the country and killed a nineteen-year-old zombie girl with an antique hunting rifle, shot her outside a club and left her body outside a Starbucks Financial. 

Udang dan Kepala Ikan Buah Keluak

A precious tub of udang dan kepala ikan buah keluak. OMG. I like these flavors more than babi or ayam. Except very few commercial restaurants would do it, and it's too shameless to ask the friends to cook it. Unless they randomly offer to, like this tub. What an awesome gift. The tremendous amount of effort that went into cooking this one tub.

With a huge snapper fish head and prawns as rempah, the dish is no less rich and savory. Without meat of pork or chicken, the seafood lends a slightly lighter flavor. This tub used red grouper heads and the usual Tiger prawns. Loads of buah keluak. It was superbly well cooked.

One evening, we split the contents of the frozen tub into two- a bowl held fish head, and the other contained buah keluak and prawns. The contents were enough to feed everyone for dinner and lunch. Heated them in the steamer. The dishes looked like a mess of brown and black and not exactly colorful and appetizing. But they tasted SO GOOD. For me, this was a one-dish meal. More than sufficient to fill the tummy when brown rice was included. I didn't need additional vegetables or anything. Fish and gravy rocked fine.

Chakra :: Swara Sandhya

A rāga holds a series of notes, guided by the eight parts it falls into over the 24-hour cycle. More than the melody, it's intended to convey the mood of the day, of the seasons, to color, to tint one's mood. During music theory, we also learnt about the underlying scales of a rāga in the form of swaras. Yes, it's as complicated as all scales are on any musical instrument, and it's a brand new set of music theory from the western classical learnt as a kid. My head exploded from counting the beats. Each rāga is a 72-note scale with a different number of notes ascending and descending; up to 12 notes can form the octave of a rāga. I was pleased that the friends invited me to Esplanade's Chakra: Swara Sandhya: Confluence of Sunset Melodies.

We heard a series of rāgas written for dusk. It was a unique pairing of musical instruments- the sitar (Shakir Khan) with the violin (Srividya Sriram), the tabla (Nawaz Mirajkar) with the mridangam (T Ramanan). Together they form a jugalbandi- a performance of Indian classical music in a duet by the various musicians. This concert saw a pairing of the two streams of Indian classical music- Carnatic (south) and Hindustani (north).

Beyond the very basic, I know nothing about the musicians or the musical pieces. Did a lot of frantic reading before and after the concert. The more knowledgeble friends gave me a summary of the pieces as well. Whewwww. All that mattered was, the musicians were very good. Sunset rāgas are meant to evoke feelings of reflection, grace, devotion. They can also be playful, upbeat and pensive at the same time. I'm not proficient at identifying rāgas aurally. Not good at describing because I'm not familiar enough with the beats. Read coherent words and thoughtful observations of the pieces over at notabilia.

It was a close to two-hour concert. Luckily it began at 6pm; we caught most of it. A pity we had to slip out before the end in order to catch some bits of Cheating Sons at the Outdoor Theatre. Wanted to hear the new songs played live from their recently released eponymous album. What a glorious evening of vastly different kinds of music enjoyed with the friends. Loved it.

Oakham's 'The Kraken's Ink'

The good folks at Smith Street Taps told us they would be tapping Oakham Ales' seasonal black IPA 'The Kraken's Ink'. Aiiight!!! Hurried down to Chinatown Complex to have dinner, meet this beautiful keg before it's finished, and say hello to Daniel and Meng.

It was a torturously hot humid night; the air was so still that the fans didn't help much. Bit uncomfortable. But we were dressed down and all prepared to sweat it out. We needed a really cold shower after. Phewwww. Don't need fancy venues all the time. It's always about the beer, and the company. Much needed, for me. A time to unwind after long hours at work. During these moods, often, I prefer sitting down with friends over drinks rather than gorging my face with food.

'The Kraken's Ink'. Big hops, lots of roasted nuts and chocolate. YUMMY. Another proper dark ale. I couldn't stop at one. At the risk of filling up the bladder way early, I had three awesome pints. They went down easy. Smith Street Taps pours them good.

We had packs of fried insects brought in by the truckloads, courtesy of my Thai friends. Took out four packs for everyone to nibble on. Certainly not finishing these packs on our own. Forget those pork crackling or chips to complement beer. Like those deep fried Japanese baby squids, insects yo, are the way to go. Environmentally friendly too. Hahahaha.

These packs were fried, dried with a ton of salt and probably MSG. They kinda crumbled like powder in the mouth. Zero nutritional value, but provided loads of laughter and eiooow-ing. No, we couldn't bear to finish all of it. The 'fresh' ones fried along the streets of Bangkok still tasted way better, like...kinda juicier. Hurhurhurhur. However, we draw the line at water bugs and cockroaches. Those really raise goosebumps. I can't bear the thought of chewing them feelers and all. UGH.

And of course three lads from IEHAC were there to down pints. Missing one lad and lass. Extra pints were gulped in their stead. After all, Oakham's special release is right up there with the similar names and graphics, and IEHAC's recent release 'The Kraken'. :)

From left: Bruce of Ale N Cider, the good folks at Smith Street Taps- Daniel, Meng,
and 3/5 of IEHAC.

English National Ballet :: Le Corsaire

Since the friends flew into town for a long weekend, I joined them for English National Ballet's Le Corsaire. Artistic director and lead principal dancer Tamara Rojo led this production to Singapore. Even though we had seen this production on film, we didn't mind seeing it on stage. We like Anna-Marie Holmes' contemporary choreography of Le Corsaire with new orchestral versions of the score. The set design and costumes by Bob Ringwood are amazing. Rich and vibrant colors, gold, chalices, sequins and crystals, all of which we couldn't help being charmed by and they drew the audience into the world of the ballet.

The story unfolded in three acts- of a righteous kidnapping, a mutiny, another kidnapping, double-crossing, a fake wedding and complicated plotting. All one needed to know is- handsome corsair- pirate Conrad braves the seas to save the beautiful slave-girl Medora from the evil clutches of Pasha (an ancient Turkish rank, like a knight of sorts) Seyd. There're the support characters- an ally in harem-girl Gulnare and a mutinous corsair Birbanto who simply refuses to die. It was kinda funny. One wouldn't usually link pirates, fancy costumes and ballet together. What more with fights, murder and a shipwreck. As they jumped, spun and pirouette-d, the dancers looked too clean. :P

Apparently ticket sales were slow. Well, to stage an under-the-radar classical ballet for five performances over four nights and a matinée, that's brave, and kinda overestimating the Singapore audience, and the numbers who would fly in to watch it. (They performed Swan Lake and Coppélia in China.) Anyway. I didn't care who danced Medora or whatever, or how the dancers interpreted each character. That wasn't the point of the evening for me. The characters don't matter because in this ballet, I'm not watching it for the story or the social themes. If I did, I would have been more irritated by how women are depicted in the ballet. I was watching it like how it is- a glitzy slick Hollywood-style production. Yah, the dancing was rather fine, competent and enjoyable.

Of Kathak and the Mughal Empire

Anjali Mitter Duva's 'Faint Promise of Rain' isn't a genre I normally read. Am glad I did. It speaks of the trials and tribulations of a family and their four children, and their eventual paths in life. (Reviews here, here and here.) 

It also talks about kathak. The kathak is my favorite of all eight forms of classical Indian dance. It's absolutely mesmerizing in the way the dance tells a story. I was also curious about how it evolved from being a Hindu devotional temple dance into courtesan art in the Muslim courts of the Mughal Empire. 

Vividly describing the dance, its steps, beats and stories, this book spans seventeen chapters. The author said in an interview, "Coincidentally, the Indian classical music cycle to which kathak is often danced is tintal, or a 16 beat cycle, but everything is always brought back, in the end, to the first beat of the next cycle, i.e. the seventeenth beat. Seventeen beats, seventeen chapters. Thus the end of one cycle is the beginning of another, as it is with many things in life."

Protagonist Adhira was born on a rare night of rain in the summer of 1554, in the desert of Rajasthan, and the region's drought ended. Her father was the dance master at the temple to Lord Krishna just outside the citadel of Jaisalmer. He thought she would have a special destiny. In the family of four children, she was only one willing to continue her father's tradition dancing kathak. Her father told her to follow tradition and marry the temple deity and give herself to a wealthy patron.   After a rape by the temple priest, she did not want to stay in the temple or in the city even. By then, the court had stopped giving state pensions to temple staff and employees. Hinduism wasn't a priority in a Muslim court and in war-time. She found a way out of Jaisalmer with the Raja's retinue for his daughter's wedding to the Emperor.

"Of course. Please bear one thing in mind, though, as you dance. Our esteemed guest is of the Muslim faith. Do not offend him with inappropriate depictions of ... well, Muslims don't portray their god." Here the Raja looked pointedly at me, and then, seeing that I understood, past me at Padmini and Bapu. ... 

I pulled an imaginary veil over my face and opened my hands into a lotus flower, and suddenly Bapu wanted to laugh aloud. I was going to depict Radha, Krishna's consort, waiting for her lover. No one need know who the characters were. Radha could be a woman, earthly, of flesh and blood. The Muslim wold never guess the truth. I would perform before him and show him the wonders of Hindu dance and faith without ever seeming to do so. .... 

I stepped into the center of the dance space and bowed, holding my palms together in front of me. Ever so slowly, I brought my hands to my forehead, my mouth, my chest. Mind, breath, heart. I thanked our ancestors for their gift of dance, and in so doing I became Radha, thanking my Lord Krishna for my very existence. Radha, Krishna's favorite among the cowherding maidens. ...

Apparently this is the first set of four books of set against historical background, with kathak as a mention or a focus of as a way of life. The author's next book will take us to the mid-1800s of artistic Lucknow, where Victorian sensibilities of the British Empire deemed kathak immoral. The other two books will take us to Calcutta and Paris. Do women in then embrace traditional norms, submit to expected gender roles or rebel against them? I think this is the same question that faces women today in many countries.

In these times of political change, Adhira was determined to keep her faith and love for Lord Krishna, and carve out her whole destiny, leaving the temple and her home, making a new life in the Emperor Akbar's Muslim court. At the end, we learnt she was still alive in 1611 at the ripe old age of 57, happily married to the apprentice to the finance minister, with a horde of grandchildren in Akbarabad, but with limited motion from a bad fall after hitting her head on the stone floor.

For several months, I recovered under the care of Akbar's own physician. Movement has fully returned to my right side, and I can now walk the gardens with an attendant and correct my daughters when they dance. During those months, a flood of new memories arrived: Ma wishing I would eat the dried apricot she gave me, Mahendra crying behind a temple pillar while I sang, Hari searching the night for me, Bapu willing Manavi-ji to bless me as a devadasi. Lord Krishna took the dance from my body, but he gave me something in return: the story of my family, a story only I can tell.

Prata for Supper

Since I don't have a driving license, I never bother to pick up the man at the airport when he comes in from work trips. That night, my last meeting ended at 10.30pm; I decided to be nice and took the last train (last connecting at Tanah Merah station at 11.10pm) out to Changi Airport to meet his flight. It had been a grueling trip for him. I was way early. The wait was negligible since it was an opportunity to catch up on leisurely reads after all the crazy hours spent on writing and reading not-so-fun work stuff.

The man's flight landed on time. Without checked luggage, he breezed through quickly and we hopped into a cab within 20 minutes of the plane's arrival on the tarmac. Love the efficiency of Changi Airport. It was a loooong 23-hour flight for him. But he was more hungry than exhausted. Since sleep was prioritized over food on the final leg home, supper was required at 3am.

Neither of us are bak chor mee people. Didn't bother with the supposedly famous stall at the basement foodcourt of Terminal 3. Skipped Changi Village and Old Airport Road Food Center. Went to Killiney Road's Nana Teh Tarik instead. The man sorely missed spices in a murtabak. I like its coin prata. Don't ask us for a comparison. We're not so on to hunt down the 'best' prata in town or whatever. (Here, refer to RERG's amazing comparison of 36 prata stalls in town.) We don't care about the 'best'. As long prata is made fresh, we're good. It's always a long wait for coin prata here. It is made only upon ordering, and I suppose at these tiny sizes, it can be a bit annoying to shape. Hurhurhur.

Valentina Lisitsa in Singapore

Not one who is prone to subtle quiet cadences, Ukraine-born Valentina Lisitsa was as fiery on stage as her recent tweets, especially in her defense of Russia's foreign policies and military overtures. (Discussions here, here, here and here.) She last played in Singapore for Piano Festival 2007 with a program entirely of Liszt. Two nights ago at Esplanade Concert Hall, she opted for a long and grueling three-hour solo program. So while I was very distracted by her shiny strappy heels and frilly hem of the skirt, she gave the piano all her attention.

She played Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 17 in D minor, Op. 31, No. 2 or otherwise known as 'The Tempest', Bach-Busoni BWV 1004 Chaconne in D Minor, Liszt's Piano Sonata in B Minor and all of Chopin's Études. 24. All. Stifled grins through her Beethoven and Chopin. The speed was astounding and sounded like she was doing scales. :P Like what my piano teacher used to say, "Stop rushing like a bullet train." Then there were three Liszt encores which included Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12 and La Campanella. Giggled at the third piece that was Totentanz for solo piano. Dance of the Dead, from Gregorian chant Dies Irae. Very much her. She has probably concluded that Liszt's works are representative of her playing style. It was like, she should have just played Liszt totally tonight too, and not bother with other composers since she wasn't going to play them the way audiences thought she would. It was fine, really. I thought it quite rude that many people were walking out of the already-sparse concert hall even before the encore. It was a rather strange mix of audience. It was odd for the organizers to hold this on the opening night of English National Ballet's 'Le Corsaire' and Singapore Fashion Week. We don't have such a big population/audience threshold to go around all these events.

Valentina Lisitsa is quite the performer lah. Not solemn standoffish, but one who takes the piano out to the streets, on the subway cars and train stations. While she's technically proficient as a professional is, she makes rather unorthodox interpretations — the types of expressions that piano teachers tell you not to do. She's engaging and brings in the crowd to her performances. So I don't know what that says about the audience at this Singapore concert, going by the attendance numbers. She's very much the Youtube star and social media darling who narrows the distance between stereotypes of classical music and the everyman.

Bowmore 21 y.o 1988

The Bowmore 21 y.o distilled in 1988 (port cask matured). I love it. We pounced on two bottles when we saw them at Heathrow airport years ago. Then we ordered a carton of these from 2009. Predictably less costly than what I have to pay now no thanks to higher alcohol import taxes.

That night when I grabbed a photo, there were exactly two generous drams left. Saved it for another night. We're all out of this expression now. *very very sadface* Like I said, Bowmore has shifted its naming, bottling and output. Dunno if I like its recent releases. I certainly don't fancy its duty-free White Sands 17 y.o anymore. It tastes vastly differently the previous bottling. Its Mariner 15 y.o isn't exciting too.

Meanwhile, I've hoarded a few other favorite bottles, which apparently, are all out of production now. Win. Why do I always pick the expressions which run out so fast. Oh well, barrels finish and distilleries do halt production after a couple of years. Nothing lasts forever and each batch will differ year on year. I'm sometimes left breathless keeping up as distilleries change ownership and go bigger on marketing and pushing out 'new' products, simply to up the sales numbers. I've been a whisky drinker for almost two decades. Seen and tasted the changes which aren't necessarily for the better. It's nice occasionally to sip a familiar old flavor. For this Bowmore 1988 21y.o, I love the deep smoke, rich hues and almost sweet notes at the end of each dram.

Ah whisky, this May and June, you're a good friend. That's not to say I don't have human friends. Of course I do, and the ones I call friends, are the best. Also, I've always declared that I'm an alcoholic. Well, it's arbitrary. It all depends on the sort of volume and the amount of appropriate libations one deems excessive and thus fall into the category of 'alcoholic'.

ACRES

Work took me up northwest to ACRES Wildlife Rescue Center. It was a lovely morning. Hot, humid and full of mosquitoes. I happily survived. I had a photographer along on this jaunt. He had like...10 bites, even with mozzie repellent. I didn't put any repellent, and had...ZERO bites. Muahahahaha. Mozzies never had a thing for me, unless I'm the only human in the room.

We were kindly given a tour of the premises. It felt like a mini-zoo, and I don't mean that in a good way. As in- it shouldn't have had to house all these iguana and lizards and exotic pythons, star tortoises and alligator snapping turtles. If they can't be sent back to the country of origin for whatever reasons, then they have to stay on the premises, and that would be a strain on the resources. I wish ACRES wouldn't have had to rescue much wildlife because this means illegal trade, keeping of illegal pets and animal abuse are rife and rampant. Instead of diminishing, the trend is on an upswing. What does this say about an affluent and educated society? What's with all the smuggling coming through our doors?

Keeping ACRES operationally sustainable is a tremendous effort. Their committed small team works super hard (in a non-air-conditioned office space), buoyed by a pool of dedicated volunteers. I like animals, I believe in their rights, but I don't have this passion to fight for them the way ACRES do. I'm as guilty as my neighbors on this idea of 'out of sight, out of mind'. I don't exactly see wildlife on a daily basis. Tiny lizards, birds and monkeys don't count okay. I do the only thing I can, keep a lookout for their rights within my personal sphere, and donate to ACRES' cause. There're many many causes to donate to. We have our pet causes. (Pun intended.) But we can afford to spread the dough around. We can all do our little part. Every dollar counts.

Our high-density urban environment has alienated us to seeing animals in their natural habitats. Zoos and aquariums count, I suppose, but I have reservations about them. It doesn't mean animals won't slip through the cracks and forlornly exist in our rather limited primary forested areas. ACRES Flag Day is coming up on May 17. For local residents, donations to IPC-registered ACRES are tax-deductable. ACRES 14th Anniversary Gala Dinner on May 23 is also a fund-raiser. (Vegetarian menu only.) For those of us who feel it, we don't have to buy them S$2500 tables or S$280 seats and grit our teeth through the schmoozing at the event. We could remain our anti-social selves and simply put in the same amount to ACRES any time of the year. OH. If you'd like to give me a Christmas present this year, make a donation to ACRES, in your own name lah, then tell me. That's one of the best presents I can hope to have.

A very curious alligator snapping turtle lifted its head out of the water to stare at us.
What a beautiful tail it had. We grinned right back.
No touching; fingers might be...snapped off.

《吃一場有趣的宋朝飯局》

Was randomly browsing at the bookshop and picked up a book on food in the Song dynasty written by Li Kai Zhou. The title could be loosely translated into 'Eating an interesting Song Dynasty meal/banquet'. Song dynasty is split into two periods of Northern (960-1127, capital Bianjing, now Kaifeng in Henan province) and Southern (1127-1279, capital Li'an, now Hangzhou in Zhejiang province).

《南方都市報》專欄作家李開周的《吃一場有趣的宋朝飯局》開場白道， “身為資深的饕客，我一向奉勸其他饕客：如果你能回到過去，最好到宋朝。假如到其他朝代，會吃不慣，甚至吃不消。”

Why Song dynasty? Aren't there good food in other dynasties? The author insisted that for foodies, it had to be Song. He did his research so that we don't have to and explained his position and beliefs in 10 chapters. I like the author's witty and snarky narrative style. His introduction was hilarious, commenting on the customs, food and cooking styles of Song dynasty and how those would be most familiar in contemporary restaurants.

Besides annotating the reference books on Song dynasty, the author also engaged loads of references to classic wu xia swordfighting/pugilistic novels, the 'Water Margin', and classical poems by renowned Chinese poets, noting the time period, food trends, etc. It's suggested that most commoners used to have two meals a day, and only the officials and ranking nobility take three meals daily. Heh. People probably eat to live rather than live to eat. I usually eat two meals a day. Am intrigued by what people consider good food and eating habits of the past. I've come across these while randomly watching cheesy sappy episodes of tv shows (not dependable), documentaries and random reads. It'll be fun to flip through it in an amalgamated edition. Heh.

Chapter 4 mentioned about how mutton or lamb, and even pork used to be eaten raw in both the Tang and Song dynasties! Also, eating raw fish is already a concept that existed. 第四章，肉食與海鮮之《蘇東坡嗜吃魚生》說：而在宋朝，無論江南還是中原，無論貴族還是平民，差不多都愛吃魚生。蘇東坡吃魚生吃得虛火不退，得了嚴重的結膜炎，大夫勸他少吃，他氣憤憤地說：「吃魚生對不起我的眼，不吃又對不起我的嘴，眼睛和嘴巴都是我身體的一部分，怎麼好意思厚此薄彼呢！」 Northern Song fished for carp in spring, cleaned them, and ate the flesh raw and thinly sliced with drops of orange juice. Poet Su Shi (Su Dongpo) wrote of how much he loved raw fish, in spite of acute conjunctivitis (likely from anisakiasis). Yeah, he's the dude who apparently inspired Sichuan's Dongpo Ink Fish (東坡墨魚) and Hangzhou's Dongpo Pork (東坡肉). However, today's Kaifeng city doesn't seem to be fond of raw fish at all. Something about the smell, apparently.

而在宋朝，無論江南還是中原，無論貴族還是平民，差不多都愛吃魚生。蘇東坡吃魚生吃得虛火不退，得了嚴重的結膜炎，大夫勸他少吃，他氣憤憤地說：「吃魚生對不起我的眼，不吃又對不起我的嘴，眼睛和嘴巴都是我身體的一部分，怎麼好意思厚此薄彼呢！」  

有機會去開封時，可以找當地人隨機訪問，問他們是否對魚生感興趣，他們大多會搖頭說NO；有些訪問對象甚至連魚生是什麼都不知道，因為絕大多數館子都不賣這道菜。 

有一年冬天到西雙版納，有幸見識了布朗族的「年豬宴」。宴席上有道菜，布朗人頻頻下筷，我們幾個漢人卻自始至終不敢問津。那道菜叫做「紅生」，據說是生肉，鮮里脊配上鮮豬血，用辣椒和鹽拌製，不炒不炸不蒸不燉，現剁現吃，十分生猛。這種吃法也許就是唐宋遺風。

In Chapter 7, it was mentioned that during the Qing dynasty and the Republic era, tea was used to welcome guests and a second cup of tea would be served later to indicate that it was time for the guests to leave. The author wrote that Song customs were different- instead of a tea for the second round, a bowl of soup would be served to send away guests. 第七章，飲料加美酒之《迎客茶，滾蛋湯》敘，南宋大詩人陸游說過宋朝的規矩：「客至則設茶，客去則湯 」。In banquets today in Kaifeng, Henan province, food would be served from cold to hot, and salty-savory to sweet, and soup would always be the last dish. This dish of soup, would always contain an egg of sorts to provide that healthy dose. However, during Song, this soup, would likely not contain eggs and wouldn't be considered soup. It would be more of a sweet herbal drink that was just as nourishing. However, next door in Manchuria where the Jurchen Dynasty reigned (1115-1234), the customs were in reverse. The Jurchen served soup to welcome, then tea to send off guests, which probably explained the traditions held in the Qing Dynasty till now, of ending a visit or a meal with a pot of tea.

... 而且這道湯必然和雞蛋有關，不是紫菜蛋花湯，就是番茄蛋花湯，不是雞蛋菠菜湯，就是玉米羹里打雞蛋，來一碗又甜又燙又營養的雞蛋玉米湯。正是因為湯裡一定有雞蛋，所以我們稱宴席最後那道湯叫「滾蛋湯」。客人都知道只要滾蛋湯端上桌，就表示飯局到了尾聲，趕緊大吃幾口，吃完走人。 

宋朝人送客，其滾蛋湯裡倒未必有雞蛋。事實上，那時候的滾蛋湯根本就不是湯，而是一種味道很甜的藥水。據北宋朱彧《萍州可談》：「送客湯取藥材甘香者為之，或溫或涼，未有不用甘草者，此俗遍天下。」

Furniture Shopping with N

N randomly texted to see if I was near Tan Boon Liat Building because she wanted to check out the furniture stores to buy some shelves and cabinets. Perfect timing because I was finishing up a meeting 200 meters down the road. Heh. Strolled over on a hot hot afternoon to accompany her up and down 12 floors of spacious shops.

She had a list of shops to go into, referring to a digital copy of a professional brochure. Impressive. When we got to the shops, each had a hard copy brochure. Pretty cool. The shops must have banded together to produce it, along with gourmet deli The Providore's corporate office and retail shop on the fifth floor. Stocked up on dark chocolate bars from Bahen & Co. N found loads of pieces to purchase and some fine-tuning to be done to her initial ideas. I provided critical and frivolous comments of the various pieces. Heh. Not that I really care about furniture. I'm not house-proud that way. Everything can simply be mis-matched so long they belong to a boring color palette, preferably black, white, blue and grey. No difference from clothes. I dislike colors and patterns even in house furnishings.

It was definitely a fruitful trip for N. Then we got thirsty and decided to go for coffee. She had dinner plans, and I had more work to sort out. So the afternoon was a much needed interlude for me. Briefly contemplated lunch. But food was quickly forgotten when there was coffee. I'm not particularly sociable to begin with, and recently, while the work is fun, it has drained the last vestiges of armor against the pain of intense human interaction. Thankful for girlfriends. The caffeine is always welcomed, of course. Without that, I would have been really grouchy.

The Ledaig Dùsgadh 42

How very lovely to be invited to the tasting of The Distell Group's new and rare release of Ledaig Dùsgadh 42 Year Old at Scotts 27 (by Le Saint Julien). You'd know that Tobermory and Ledaig are branded together from the only distillery on the Isle of Mull. The newly launched Ledaig Dùsgadh 42 has only, well, 500 bottles for the world's malt lovers. Ledaig is pronounced as Le-cheek.

Lovely of the organizers to hold this tasting at the beautiful heritage bungalow that is now Scotts 27. Its interiors feel more like a home than sparkling-posh. Scotts 27 runs like a private kitchen with only three dining rooms. Don't walk in. It's a reservations-only restaurant. It also hosts events; this evening was reserved for the whisky dinner. The four-course menu is still classically French, and very Julien Bompard. I did notice the food. At cocktails, I nibbled on a crumbly light anster from Isle of Mull Cheese.

The amuse-bouche named Scotts 27 Garden is a standard affair at its meals with a few switches of seasonal ingredients, inspired by the restaurant's garden and the plantations of the olden days, bit of a muddled purée-mousse topped with odd raspberry bits and shimeiji mushrooms. If there was chocolate or cacao in that base, it was lost. That was definitely a dish for white wine or sparkling, not with whisky. There was a very good house-cured salmon with orange marmalade, quinoa and almond medley, a mediocre starter roasted sea scallop with creamy vanilla and turnip, an interesting main of venison stew with dried fruits cooked in bread dough, and a dessert of caramelized chocolate mousse with roasted apple with ginger and cinnamon. Although it was a bit rushed for the kitchen to serve all 30 of us within 2.5 hours, it was a pretty all right pairing of flavors and whisky.

The selected malts to accompany the meal.
From right: Tobermory 10y.o, Ledaig 10y.o, Tobermory 15y.o, and Ledaig 18y.o.

Of course the focus was all on the whisky. Affable Head of Distilleries and Master Blender Ian McMillan took us through the single malts of the evening. Incidentally, this is also his forty-second year in the business. I was glad to see the Tobermory 15y.o on the menu. It's one of my favorite expressions from the distillery. Pretty much an easy winner on any occasion. Admittedly, I'm not familiar with the Ledaig, except its 18.yo. Even then, I don't usually order it as I prefer a stronger peat.

The point of the evening was the Ledaig Dùsgadh 42 Year Old. Distilled in 1972, this expression was aged in various casks to lend those unfathomable layers before it finally sat in an oloroso sherry cask for another decade or so to even out its final flavors. At ABV 46.3%, this is liquid treacle indeed, and with all the complexity of a 42y.o, with the hint of Ledaig peat that has amazingly been retained as it aged.

Thank you for having us, good people of The Whisky Store. It was a most awesome evening.

雞絲臘腸飯 :: Chicken Lupcheong Rice

The man often takes a lunchbox to work. Easier than fighting queues in the CBD. As much as he loves GyG and The Daily Cut, his schedule makes it impossible to eat there often. What he does is to grab a lunchbox from home. There's always some sort of food in the fridge. Dhal aplenty. Otherwise, we could thaw out fish to grill a miso cod or stir-fry easy vegetables.

The bff passed me fresh stock of lupcheong from Hong Kong. Finally opened it two weeks ago and took out four pieces- regular and liver. Went out to buy the necessary ingredients and made a one-pot meal. A quarter went into the man's lunchbox in the form of shredded chicken lupcheong rice (雞絲臘腸飯). Opted for a base of mixed grains and brown rice. Cheated and used the rice cooker instead. Chicken breast fillets were pan-seared and shredded first before finishing up in the rice cooker. The man isn't a big fan of Chinese preserved sausages, so I topped up the vegetables for him. The bok choi and spinach were separately blanched. #impieCooks2015

The lunchbox also held tofu. These were lightly cooked with the barest bits of garlic to counter the salt content from the salted fish and preserved meats. Didn't even really need more soy sauce. Just a drizzle. I suppose it tasted fine. Again, there's minimal nutritional value. Didn't hear complaints about the lunchbox being too oily or salty. The additional vegetables for him worked their magic. Muahahaha.

Kirin J Callinan & DJ Twinhed

Got dragged out to Kirin J Callinan's gig at Blu Jaz Cafe. The friends were really enthusiastic. "Let's go dancing!" Errrm, okay. I was clearly skeptical. Have you heard his latest 'Embracism'? Sounds more like DJ remixes than the usual melodious singer-songwriter stuff. Good on the artist, but I don't get those doof-doof beats. Sorry.

You know what, I got 'em doof-doof poof-poof beats alright. Triple dosage. Kirin J Callinan used those pedals for a bit, noise and loop, then abandoned them for stint at the Macbook. He clearly loved dancing. There was even a GoT theme song remix. Win lor. Very bizzare, but rather entertaining. Everyone busted out disco moves. I was rather amused. I wasn't sure if I paid to hear him sing or watch him dance. I think I'm too old for this sort of gig-not-gig type of shows that turn into a dance party. My fellow audience kinda whooshed out of the room when it went into a Macbook-show and disco, leaving like five people behind to entertain the artist who was still on the dance floor. LOL.

Bumped into a whole bunch of other friends who went for DJ Twinhed downstairs. So we zipped in to catch the last few tunes of hip hop and drum&bass. A different kind of dancing went on. Haven't heard these rhythms for a while. I don't fancy listening to hip hop or drum&bass. But dancing to it is a different matter. You can't not dance to it. The whole meaning of the genre is in the movements.

Drank water! Loved it that Blu Jaz Cafe put out jugs of iced water with a slice of orange at the bar counter for all patrons. If you tell me 'dancing', then I can't do alcohol well. It's gotta be ice-cold water. Lots. The non-dancers could drink our share of alcohol or we could drink after. You need to be kind of sober so as not to stomp on other people's feet, or slap people when you flail around. We gave this dude a wide berth because he seemed more like drunkenly bashing around than showing off strange moves.

We hadn't gone clubbing for ages. Is 'clubbing' even the right term?!? Sounds more dated than hip. What do they call it now? What a hilarious night out. Hahaha. Full from dinner, there was no customary supper when we split at 1.30am. Cannot lah, we can't wrap up nights at 4am anymore. My eyes literally burn. Of late, I wilt by midnight. Pun fully intended.

Eats at Ki-sho

It was very sweet of the man to insist on a date to take me out to dinner. He noticed that I haven't been really thinking about sitting down to meals, preferring to work through meal-times, or simply grabbing a sandwich at some point. Well. The pace of work is fast, and when I work, I don't think about food. I usually take two meals a day anyway, even with the quick laps in the pool or sessions of pilates. Caffeine, on the other hand, is a necessity. The man works equally hard, if not more. This quarter runs at full speed. Luckily for us, we enjoy our work and the various projects we've committed to.

We went out to Ki-sho. The man has taken a shine to this restaurant. The man and I have different preferences when it comes to Japanese restaurants. We would go to all, but it's like, I'm more fond of Tatsuya and Sushi Hashida, whereas he's more keen on Shinji (Raffles Hotel), Aoki and Ki-sho. Whatever. We could hop in whenever, and also separately with our respective friends, depending on the offerings on the menu or the produce in season. It was nice to have a lovely meal with the man before he flew out on yet another work trip. Too bad I couldn't tag along. It would be nice to catch up with those friends in another city again. But I have work to do. Plenty of work. Kinda fun projects too. So that's priority. There would be time to play later.

Chef Kazuhiro Hamamoto took care of us. He considered our requests and proceeded to slice our preferred fish for the night. Didn't bother with cooked food. Decided to go with raw stuff. What a lovely meal, as usual. I don't deviate very much from my usual preferences of sashimi or nigiri sushi. Could almost feel my neighbors raise eyebrows when I requested for no chutoro, otoro or wagyu, or foie gras. Hehehehe. We were also not in the mood for sake. Opted for beer. There would be more whisky later with the friends. Saved our livers for that.

The Garden of Evening Mists

Years ago, I read Tan Twan Eng's first book 'The Gift of Rain', which was excellent. I procrastinated and last year, finally read his well written and evenly paced 'The Garden of Evening Mists', but somehow forgot to blog about it. It's a beautiful story, heartrending and painful. Unfortunately, it isn't my kind of book. It's a good story, leaving loads to reflect upon if you choose to think about it. (Reviews here, here, here and here.)

The timeline moved between the present-1980s and the past of the Japanese Occupation in the 1940s and post-war 1950s. Survivor's guilt and trauma. Yun Ling had lost two fingers and survived one of the most obscure POW camps in the Malayan jungles during the Japanese Occupation 1942-1945. Her beloved older-by-three-years sister Yun Hong perished. Post-war during the Emergency and Communist insurgency, she fled to Cameron Highlands for a time-out and wanted to commission Japanese gardener Nakamura Aritomo to build a memorial garden for her sister, but he turned her down. Aritomo was reticent, unapologetic and taciturn, quietly going about creating Yugiri, a Japanese garden in post-war Malaysia and making his art of wood-block prints.

Yugiri, we are told, "lay seven miles west of Tanah Rata, the second of the three main villages on the road going up to Cameron Highlands." In the end, Yun Ling became Aritomo's apprentice in order to build it herself. She had to deal with her love for Aritomo and the atrocities of the Japanese versus the calm zen of the gardens. That specific garden for Yun Hong was never built, or perhaps it was Yugiri all along...  One day, Aritomo was lost in the jungle and was never found. Yun Ling left Yugiri, never returning till she was an old woman, a good thirty-six years later.

Cultural complexities abound in the storyline. Of relatives, family, political and social circumstances of those turbulent times. War stories, lost kin and friends, and places where painful memories resides. The accents that came through in the words and phrases of different languages, the thinking of the people, et cetera. So familiar, and in some scenes, I might well be reading about my own extended family, and hearing words tumble out of my grandaunts as they recalled their flight (via ship actually) from war-time Malaya to India then England.

I'm curious about the horimono on Yun Ling's back. Trying very hard to envision it. And failing. The tattoo was etched on her whole back, a design inspired by wood-block prints, something for the commoners in the Edo period, but very popular nowadays as an intricate piece of ukiyo-e body art. But it certainly wouldn't have been welcomed in the early post-war years on a Chinese woman in Southeast Asia had more people known about it. Yun Ling kept her horimono hidden. Hers wasn't framed. It was a fade-away, a 'daybreak'. She would later discover that her horimono corresponded to the layout of Yugiri. With the exception of the intentional missing rectangle on the body canvas that was filled in the actual Garden.

'The sketch of the kore-sansui garden you saw in Tominaga Noburu's hut,' said Aritomo. 'What did it look like?'
I thought for a moment. 'Three stones in one corner, and two low, flat grey rocks diagonally opposite them, and behind them a miniature pine tree shaped like a dented temple bell.'
'The dry mountain-water garden at his grandfather's summer home at Lake Biwa,' said Aritomo. 'Three centuries old and famous all over Japan.' He paused. 'Tominaga-San was a knowledgable man where the Art of Setting Stones is concerned.'
'But he is not as skilled as you.'
'He considered himself to be. Tominaga-san was a cousin of the Empress,' he continued, so softly that I thought he was talking to himself. 'We have known each other since we were boys of five or six.'
'It was him you quarreled with over the garden designs.' I should have realised it sooner. 'Tominaga was the reason the Emperor had to sack you.' When Aritomo did not reply, I said, 'It was absurd to fight over a garden.'
'It was not merely about a garden. It was about what each one of us believed. He was always unyielding in his views, his principles. I once told him he would make a good soldier.'
'He couldn't have been that rigid,' I said. 'He disobeyed his orders. He helped me escape.'
'Now that was uncharacteristic of him. He was always our government's strongest supporter, always loyal to the Emperor, to our leaders.'
'He never said anything bad about you. In fact he often praised the gardens you had designed.'
Aritomo's face seemed to age. 'But what he did to the prisoners...what we did to all of you...' He became quiet, then said, 'You have never told this to anyone?'

Steven Isserlis with Lan Shui and the SSO

While I am familiar with the compositions of Dmitri Shostakovich, I know nothing much about cellist Steven Isserlis. I saw him years ago in Singapore when John Nelson conducted the SSO. But E was the bigger fan and wanted to watch Steven Isserlis play Shostakovich's First Cello Concerto.

We were up to our neck in work that day, but emails could wait for 2.5 hours before we return to the business of annoying the associates. Even though tickets were bought, given my crazy schedule which involves loads of last-minute work stuff, I wasn't sure if I could make the date, but E was kind enough not to mind. She knows I never pass up the chance to spend an evening at the concert.

Lan Shui conducted the Singapore Symphony Orchestra (SSO) for Steven Isserlis through Shostakovich's 1959 Cello Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 107, then Tchaikovsky's sixth and final completed Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74 ‘Pathétique’.

Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 107 began on a familiar upbeat four note-cello theme. The second movement was sparse in orchestration. Percussion, yes, but mostly cello. We were taught that the third and fourth movements were greatly satirical. I strained to hear that when I studied it, and I still strained to hear it that night. Steven Isserlis brought the concerto to a life of its own and lent it his strong command of phrasing and stops, exhibiting his much declared love of gut strings. With that artistic mop of hair, he still looked every inch the rock star and exuded all the charm to own the stage. I could easily imagine him blitzing a riff on a Strat. :P For the encore, he did a fun little 'March' from Prokofiev's 'Music for Children, Op.65'.

First performed nine days before Tchaikovsky's much debated mysterious death in November 1893, Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74 ‘Pathétique’ is the only symphony to begin and end in a minor key and one of the defining sounds of Romanticism. It's kinda bleak and doesn't provide an optimistic conclusion. Many critics read it as tragic pathos, although not as a tragedy. The adagio lamentoso is almost funereal. SSO played it well. I hadn't heard them for a while. The orchestra sounded even more cohesive.