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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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