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Rigginfraggit, grar, sharding shells, zarquon, and any other expletive you care to suggest. That is how much I sucked on this expletive concert. They all lied to me and told me it was better than I thought, that my tears were from nerves and I was being too hard on myself. There are perhaps two mediocre phrases, and the rest are composed of puerile cracks or puellile wobbling. Well, maybe I expressed something, but who knows what the hell it was? Panic? Somehow, Mozart, even when setting the ramblings of hormonal teenaged boys for hormonal adult women to sing, doesn't seem like panic. No one is ever going to hear this recording. I can do so much better. I am so disappointed.
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