Berlin, 1960. Eternally enchanting Marlene Dietrich made her none-too-glorious return to the city after thirty years and I had the good fortune to accompany her for a night-out. And a night-in. She had an astounding personality and humour, to match, and she looked bloody incredible in a tux. She insisted we spent a few hours of the night in a drag bar down in Schöneberg; whereas her overall reception in Germany had been frosty, to say the least, in that bar, she was treated like a hero.
Of course, her dress was a handful of sizes too small for me but we made do.
Oh. Wow. The things I wouldn't do to have been a spectator that night. Dietrich in a tux and you in an outfit that must have given you the perfect hourglass figure.
Actually, I've wondered before what you'd look like in a dress.
I have nothing amusing to give you, but I will give you most entertaining and then, most memorable.
I was performing Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 20 with the Berliner Philharmonics at the beginning of the week and after a very lovely rehearsal, the conductor, Heidi, and I went to Friedrichstadt-Palast together. Although there was no show on that day, they were doing late-night rehearsals that we somehow got us talked into sitting through, they kept working until past midnight and we stayed for all of it, the only two people in the audience. The darkness of the venue, the lit stage, costumes, song, dance, Heidi's breathy voice as she leaned on my shoulder to translate the German lyrics of I'm the little Fichtl... Some good things in life really don't cost you anything.
It was an experience. As for the memorable one? Here, have my souvenir.
[ Attached: A photo of a grand piano placed in the middle of Ort der Information under the Memorial to the Murdered Jews. Panels of light in the floor is lighting up the instrument from beneath. A circle of people are standing around the piano, applauding, and a couple of feet from the piano bench, the silhouette of Elio bowing can be made out. ]
It's a bit long. And it starts before we met each other. When Michel and I were still together. His father had been a pianist like me, but given up playing altogether for mysterious, unknown reasons. On his deathbed, he entrusted a score to Michel and told him to give it to someone who'd understand. When he met me, I was allowed to have it. It was a cadenza composed by an unknown man called Léon, a Jew, at the end of World War II. It stole left and right from Mozart and Beethoven, but at the core of this score was the Kol Nidre prayer. I recognized the melody. Michel made me promise to perform it on my next tour and I did, but it never felt like it really landed, found its way home.
Fast forward, I arrived in Berlin earlier this week. One of the musicians in Berliner Philharmonics, also Jewish, had been to a concert I did where I performed Léon's cadenza and asked whether I wouldn't want to play it somewhere people would understand. So he put me in touch with the museum board at the Holocaust Museum and they allowed me to do an intimate concert in the depths of their exhibitions. Only 20 people could attend, but it is still the most amazing concert I've done. I played Beethoven's Waldstein sonata and then, as a final encore, Léon's cadenza.
I don't think I'll ever play it again. It belonged there.
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Berlin must have looked like a reflection of the world in those days, crumbling and burning. No victories make up for that. Really, everyone lost.
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Would you like the amusing story now, to compensate?
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Berlin, 1960. Eternally enchanting Marlene Dietrich made her none-too-glorious return to the city after thirty years and I had the good fortune to accompany her for a night-out. And a night-in. She had an astounding personality and humour, to match, and she looked bloody incredible in a tux. She insisted we spent a few hours of the night in a drag bar down in Schöneberg; whereas her overall reception in Germany had been frosty, to say the least, in that bar, she was treated like a hero.
Of course, her dress was a handful of sizes too small for me but we made do.
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Actually, I've wondered before what you'd look like in a dress.
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Right now, however, it's your turn to feed my imagination. Let's have it, then. Two stories, if you please.
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I was performing Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 20 with the Berliner Philharmonics at the beginning of the week and after a very lovely rehearsal, the conductor, Heidi, and I went to Friedrichstadt-Palast together. Although there was no show on that day, they were doing late-night rehearsals that we somehow got us talked into sitting through, they kept working until past midnight and we stayed for all of it, the only two people in the audience. The darkness of the venue, the lit stage, costumes, song, dance, Heidi's breathy voice as she leaned on my shoulder to translate the German lyrics of I'm the little Fichtl... Some good things in life really don't cost you anything.
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[ Attached: A photo of a grand piano placed in the middle of Ort der Information under the Memorial to the Murdered Jews. Panels of light in the floor is lighting up the instrument from beneath. A circle of people are standing around the piano, applauding, and a couple of feet from the piano bench, the silhouette of Elio bowing can be made out. ]
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Fast forward, I arrived in Berlin earlier this week. One of the musicians in Berliner Philharmonics, also Jewish, had been to a concert I did where I performed Léon's cadenza and asked whether I wouldn't want to play it somewhere people would understand. So he put me in touch with the museum board at the Holocaust Museum and they allowed me to do an intimate concert in the depths of their exhibitions. Only 20 people could attend, but it is still the most amazing concert I've done. I played Beethoven's Waldstein sonata and then, as a final encore, Léon's cadenza.
I don't think I'll ever play it again. It belonged there.
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Dream about it one night, darling, and maybe I'll get to hear it.
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Oh. I thought maybe they were special, those dreams.
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Do they bother you?
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Though next time, feel free to undress me. ;)
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