(no subject)

[sanura]

They probably sing Rutter in heaven. Disney heaven, anyway. But still. The saccharine and overblown strains of a few mediocre compositions acquired a certain kind of dignity tonight, for a commemorative occasion that hit all the tactful Hallmark lines. It's the cliches, the axioms, everything that is old and tired, but with Tom at the podium, we went on a trip and suddenly it could have been new, because we meant it. He wove us into a sincerely earnest chorus of cherubim, with the Daley. He threaded the boys not merely on the head of the pin, but through the eye of the needle, and I marveled through the harpstrings at the avenging seraph beside him, pounding glory from the piano. The imperfections were drowned in the wave of splendor that washed over us from Tom's fingers.

I know I didn't imagine it, because, jaded as most of our musicians are, they all felt it too. The audience, of course, gave an occasion-appropriate, stately but appreciative ovation. It went well.