The SoupASonic

if you happen to catch yourself dancing to this, could you please post a video?

Thanks -- you enjoy. :)

Sometimes, my parents sing to me:

I've often said that in order to continually develop as a musician, you have to act like you're 20 -- curious, but pessimistic.

With that in mind, a gentle reminder:
When I was 15, I used to listen and study music, and try to write something in that style, imitate and learn the language at all costs. I wanted to be better than everybody at whatever the "thing" was.

When I was 20, I used to rebel against pretty much everything.

When I was 27, I finally found a connection to some music which was really "for me" -- naturally, it was made by musicians who were acting like they're 20.

Now that this year I'm turning 30, I'm starting to feel like I have certain strengths, and I should capitalize on them ..

..clearly, I didn't learn anything...
:)

I walked by a neighborhood coffee shop on the Upper East Side the other day, and saw a "No Laptops Allowed" sign. For a moment, I felt chills, and just then, I realized that I was staring future in the face.

What does it tell you when a neighborhood coffee shop doesn't allow laptops? -- that their users tend to buy one drink (anywhere between $2-6) and stay for hours. That was certainly the case at alt.coffee in the East Village, until they decided to plug all of their electrical outlets shut, citing "insurance" concerns. Working on a laptop at a cafe combines at least three important life activities into one: caffeine consumption, people-watching, and work. With free wifi, the cost of that $6 latte is practically tax deductible, and getting work done actually feels like a vacation, not to mention that, while hooked into the internet, you can read more magazines, and hear more amazing music, than you could ever try to in your lifetime, almost without cost..

And yet, that model is increasingly becoming unsustainable for the coffee-shop owners. Some start charging for internet services (like Starbucks); others get rid of the internet entirely, others turn up the music so loud that you can't think... Other coffee shops simply close, or re-open "with a new concept". My neighborhood coffee shop on the Upper West Side (the old Columbus Bakery) re-opened with such a new concept, as a marriage of "Pinch" and "S'mac" - a pizzeria and a mac-n-cheese joint...

I tried at length to write a post about how musicians are similar to coffee-shop owners, how we all seek an intimate connection with their listeners and customers. But on closer examination, that comparison fails - the upfront hard costs of starting and running a coffee shop cannot compare with the fairly negligible costs of making music. Where the coffee-shops are trying to monetize their tables by shooing away laptop-laden cyborg freeloaders or asking for a fee, we try to woo them with free downloads, videos, and podcasts -- we *hope* they will monetize one day, and celebrate each of their purchases as we would the first steps of a child.

It's great to live in hope, in faith, in innocence -- just wish that they still lived in a coffee shop.

My parents are always close - this close.

Holy Batman of experimental.. food?
3:10am Moscow time, Inna and I finally watched "Ratatouille" - a film whose title few in the US will know how to spell, let alone pronounce. What's it about? Rats - cooking. Somehow, a kids movie about intolerance turned into one of the smartest, most addictive, memorable films of the year.

Do I ever sound-off like a 12 year-old on my blog? No!
But you must - must - MUST - rent this brilliant film!
Bravo, Pixar! Bravo, too, to Michael Giacchino for his brilliant score.
Wish it were a musical.

What in the horror world is this? -- Why, it's a picture of my brand new baby.
But what should we call it? That, my friends, is up to you - see below, and thank you!

This new baby is a 6-stringed acoustic instrument, made by the excellent Eric Aceto of Ithaca, NY. On its belly, it carries the strings of a viola (C-G-D-A), the violin (G-D-A-E) and a super-low string (F), one pitch higher than the bottom note of the guitar. Size-wise, it's taller than a violin but shorter than a viola, clocking in at 14 inches.

So what should we call it? I'd like to propose a baby-naming contest.
I'll be taking names in the comments below, until midnight Eastern Time (GMT -5) on February 29 May 31, 2008, at which point I'll put all of the entries up for a vote.
Winner will receive a signed copy of my debut CD, Vjola: World on Four Strings, and a signed copy of the upcoming CD release by Ljova & the Vjola Contraband, which will be ready in the late summer. You'll also have my eternal gratitude, which you can not (as yet) pawn on Ebay..

Possible suggestions already include:
-- mezzo violin
-- hexañola (or hexagnola)
-- viola da samba
-- six-e beast
-- the beast

To inspire and a-muse you, I'm including the first two recordings I made on the new instrument:
FRESH WOOD (download the mp3 here)

and JAM JEROME, an excerpt from a longer jam with the guitarist and composer Jerome Covington (download the mp3 here)


Want to see more pictures of the new instrument? Sure you do - head right this way.

Enjoy the music, and thank you for any input!

--Ljova (& Eric Aceto), pictured below

As innabar continues her Vox365 Project in the third day, she asks me for creative input. I politely decline. Recording material explicitly for remixing is like trying to craft scrap metal before throwing it away. Why should I have any input on someone else's scrap metal? One woman's out of tune note is another's nirvana, one broken phrase is another's disco loop. There is no reason for me to intervene -- my job is simply to press record, encode, and upload. That's probably another reason why I think that recording material for remixing is not terribly productive. Enjoyable, yes, but not terribly productive. You can say "Gah" and someone will find use for it; you can sing melodies, and someone will steal them.. but does it really help your growth as an artist? I'm not so sure.


On another note, enjoy a new piece I just recorded - a quasi-raga of sorts, definitely inspired by John Adams' Dharma at Big Sur to which I was listening earlier, at the gym. This new piece ("Fresh Wood 1") was recorded on my new instrument, about which I'll have a separate post in a day or two. Meanwhile, enjoy!

When I was a child, I spoke in screams and whimpers -- I could sure make a scene;
Later, I spoke in desires, and drew shapes - first oddball, then musical.
Then I learned Russian, though I still preferred to confide almost exclusively to my teddy bear, and speaking bully to just about anyone else. Moscow winters were tough, and practicing the violin seemed like a curse.

For a while, I thought and spoke in Russian daily; when we moved to New York, I learned English. Eventually, I began to speak + think in English, my teddy bear caught up quickly.

These days, I feel increasingly alienated from any language, aside from "Email", a language in which I communicate exceptionally well. I know the styles like the palm of my hand. There's formal, semi-formal, casual, hipster, and various other nuanced shades meant to elicit a response. There are openings, closings, and ways to emphasize content. There's also SMS/Text, the diminutive cousin.

It's very comforting. I have little problem rattling off 100+ emails a day on many projects, but give me a phone-call, and momentarily a mental timer starts to beat, a sign rapidly blinking "you're not multitasking!!". I check the time, scan a magazine, open another tab, window, politely steering the conversation to fizzle out, so that we can confirm everything by email. I rarely take phone-calls when I'm at home, but always when I'm on the run.

There is something about email, and facebook, that has made (my) life much easier to manage. But it has also compartmentalized and eroded relationships to such a degree that having a regular conversation doesn't appear necessary. For example --

"How are you?"
"Check my Facebook status"

"Where did you go on honeymoon?"
"Check my blog, and fotki site for pictures"

"Tell me a little about your band"
"Sure! we're really fun, and for videos and reviews, see my website.."

"Let me tell you how to get to my house from the train station"
"No need, I've got GPS and Google Maps directions"

"I've just had this incredible meal at X"
"I've just read several reviews of it on Yelp/Menupages/Citysearch, and they're all negative"
..and so forth.

Pretty much the only conversation-piece is something which cannot, by sheer complexity or unwieldy nature, be posted online, or an idea that is too improvised to hold its structure in anything but a live in-person performance.

And yet, something's missing from all of this omnivorousness. The people who most often interest me are not ones who're pouring out buckets of content weekly, but those who -- maybe, possibly -- make three or four splashes a year. They don't really use facebook, and can barely if ever get back to an email. They're too busy - reading, writing, catching a 6pm dinner with friends, and contending with larger forms. Bless 'em.

10 years ago, email used to be for procrastination; now, it's vital to getting work done. When someone is "catching up on some email", that's productive -- but returning phonecalls, seeing friends? Time consuming.

I wish I could quit - quit using all of these new resources, and just talk to people in a friendly, unhurried, non-neurotic manner. But with no barriers on my working hours, with so much going on in the world (in the news and otherwise), with having to manage everything + follow up, the optimistic amount of things I try to accomplish daily... the lure of efficiency is too hard to resist.

Let's hope that, at least, I can still devote ample energy to music.

innabar recorded the second installment of her Vox365 Project this evening; meanwhile, I'm wondering if this whole Remix thing is a 2007 fad. In particular, the collecting of little blips and things.

I could certainly be wrong, and perhaps to a large extent, I am, but there is something about remixing material that (for me) would have to present an argument, not just be a free-floating component. Components aren't large enough to present an argument, to truly inside with a larger work, that is, unless they refer to a larger concept. The new sample, Bouncy Pa-Ra-Pam, is long enough, though, to allude to some style, place, idea.. I'm curious to see how it will sound transformed, and by whom.

My wife and I wrote a new song together -- to the lyrics of the great Russian poet Alexander Blok.

It was a fairly equal collaboration -- Inna came up with a perfectly gorgeous tune, which I tweaked through my usual proclivities, and added a short instrumental interlude. I've never re-written a tune before, especially something so perfect, and was absolutely amazed at what Inna came up with, completely out of the blue. But little by little, tearing at the meaning of the song and the chords, made a few changes and learned a lot.

So, now we have a tiny blip of a 1:25" minute song, and sure, we can "develop" it, with an instrumental and etc. into a 3:30" memorable classic -- but I'm more excited to keep poking forks into it until it's as far from a folk or pop traditional song as my ear will allow.

It's perfectly good now -- but what else is there, what structural mayhem can I pull, what can be stretched more, what error process can I set off to do something so grossly wrong that it will come out just right, and will make all the difference?

These past few days on MySpace, I've been getting new "Friend Requests" from fake incarnations of "Tom", the MySpace founder. Some porn reseller decided to borrow Tom's infamous profile picture and stick it on their new spammy profiles. Then, for extra ridicule, they put up pictures of scantily clad ladies and called them "Tom". It's getting really funny, but is quickly diminishing whatever relevance MySpace had left...

..meanwhile, this could be the new MySpace theme song:


happy new year. :)
UPDATED - more recent "Tom" pictures:

Ouch! I know what you're thinking -- "he's a wax figure!" or, perhaps, "they're both wax figures!" Alas, we're both very real -- and sure enough, that's me standing next to our very own President Bush, at the White House on Wednesday evening. Two hours later, I was at the Washington Greyhound station, waiting for the bus back to New York. Good times were had on both.

I met the First Lady, too. All thanks to a chance meeting with the brilliant conductor Alondra de la Parra at my beloved Cafe La Fortuna two years ago. As I remember, I was sitting in the rear terrace, working on my arrangement of Kayhan Kalhor's "The Silent City" for Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble, when Alondra walked in with a photographer friend, and before long, she convinced me to perform with her young orchestra, newly renamed as the Philharmonic Orchestra of the Americas.

The orchestra was in Washington on Wednesday to cap its first international tour, which included performances in New York (at the Skirball Center, NYU), Dallas (at Meyerson Hall), Mexico City (three concerts -- one in the gardens at Chapultepec, another at the Belles Artes, and another at Sala Nezahualcóyotl). Our last concert, at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC, was attended by the First Lady, and can be streamed in entirety here. (If you scroll your stream to 1:05, you'll hear my arrangements of two Piazzolla tangos.)

The tour -- especially our time in Mexico City, for which Inna came to visit -- was incredibly special. See a review from Dallas , and my photo collection from the trip to Mexico.

But you probably want to know about the White House visit?

We had no idea that the President himself would welcome us, as originally it was supposed to be a reception with (just!) the First Lady, and in either case both Abbas and Olmert were in Washington, with Israeli-Palestinian peace in the balance. But to our surprise, there he was, greeting us without a hint of fatigue, patiently posing for photographs with each musician, making conversation with each musician, telling interesting bits about his last visit to this or that person's hometown, thanking each musician for asking to take a picture. He apologized several times for the traffic jams that his visits cause.

I felt somehow shy about the honor of meeting the President, thought of how many troops aspire to this moment, how many days in the field, training.. And there I was. (Granted, I did spend 15+ years learning to play the viola...)

For a while, I was just taking pictures for everyone, waiting my turn. Eventually, it came to me, and then he said:

"You must be the most patient guy in the world. Where are you from?"

Upon hearing that I came from Moscow, he launched into a well-thought-out soliloquy about the beauty of Moscow, how it has changed, and how optimistic he was about Russia's progress, about his hopes for its growing middle class. He said that he liked Putin, but didn't appreciate his anti-American sentiment..

I didn't disagree. I felt honored that the President took time to speak with me and share his mind. The issues and opinions didn't matter -- it was the sheer luster of the moment, which lasted longer than I could ever imagine. Surely he had better intelligence than I.

I walked down the hall, and found Alondra speaking with the First Lady. Mrs. Bush was very charming, congratulated us on the concert and my arrangements.

I walked around some more along the more private parts of the Whitehouse, including the Queen's and Lincoln Bedroom. I walked to the State Floor, to see it all decorated for the Holidays. It was all very grand, but not the same opulent way as I've seen rooms decorated at some New York weddings. There was an aura of restraint, of space, a certain modesty. It wasn't cozy or intimate, though by no means were the rooms very big. See all of my pictures from the White House here.

So there it was, my first time at the White House, hopefully not the last. Two hours later, I took the Metro to the Greyhound Station, where I watched the talking heads endlessly rehashing the latest presidential debate, followed by a special on "Campaign Killers". I bought a turkey sandwich full of preservatives, and drank it down with a bottle of Dasani "electrolyte" water. On the bus, a man behind me snored louder than some can scream. By morning, I was home.

WARNING: I'm going to allow comments on this entry, for now. Any flaming comments will be deleted without further warning. This is not at all about politics or free speech, it's simply about a recollection of meeting the President and touring the White House. Please leave it be. Thanks.

Ever listen to Piazzolla's music and marvel at all the violin solos by his brilliant violinists?

Well, I've just discovered for myself an incredible **viola solo** on a Piazzolla album! It's probably the closest I can get to hearing what the Argentine tango-viola tradition was all about (other than it being "huge").

Check out the track: "Invierno Porteño" on the album "Astor Piazzolla: Grandes Exitos".

It's on iTunes, and well worth the dollar, I think.

(I have no connection with the recording, and receive no proceeds from the sales..)

Somewhat inspired by the current stagehands strike on Broadway, and the writers strike nationwide, I had a dream last night, in which..:

The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra went on strike. I was called in to fill in for a special arrangement of Mozart's The Magic Flute (the Julie Taymor production), in which the orchestra was reduced to one on-stage violist (yours truly), and one on-stage violinist, played by some 10-year old girl who was chaperoned on stage by her dad, and placed on the opposite side of the stage from me. James Levine conducted to a packed house.

At some point, police dressed in Cuban army uniforms came in to arrest both musicians and Levine -- but the music continued, and our disappearance went seemingly unnoticed..

I woke up 10 minutes before our alarm clock.

"You're only as old as you feel", says the popular phrase -- but what if I feel exactly as old as I am?

Being 29 is fascinating. For once in my life -- I strongly feel that I've got a totally clear and conscious view of my past, present and future. I see our parents, glowing youthfully; I see our friends having babies, struggling to find babysitters and free time. These babies are making me feel really old, as if a whole generation just spurted up and planted my feet back in the sand. I feel that time is running out -- the last few minutes of "us" time, before either the corporate or the familial wall of responsibilities close in on us from both sides.

I feel 1000% alive and active, fully grown, mature, with all of my braincells and joints in prime condition, ready to storm the amphitheater with the my personal equivalent of a grand-ambition symphony, to shake the foundations, to do something unheard of; I look at people in their 50s-60s, meek and helpful, cheerfully distilling their own thoughts and I, respectfully, just want to come out swinging. What do THEY know about the present -- just lots of stories about the past.

And yet, what do I know..? I've just got a lot of energy. I just want to turn this world upside down because obviously it's never been done. Soon enough, God willing we'll have a baby who'll try to turn my home -- one I've been trying to scrape together, all of my studio gear, instruments, adapters, coziness, boxes of records, -- upside down, for the same exact reason, not trusting that I've ever learned or felt how to live. Clearly, I've barely retained anything from pre-school Math..

Let's pray for more energy, let's hope I've retained from my parents an unflinching forgiveness, empathy and love.

In the mean time, back to dreaming dreams.

"NO TRESSPASSING -- AUTHORIZED PERSONELL ONLY". That sign will shortly grace the front door of our apartment. After a year in which our building has switched 3 owners, the current landlord seems to be emptying house. At present, 6 apartments bear that sign -- by the end of the month, it'll be at least 8. Either the leases are not being renewed, or the proposed increase in rent is so high that nobody can afford. There's a huge cart outside from Allstate Demolition for throwing things out in bulk. We could've fought to stay here, but after two sexual assault incidents on our block in the past three months, we've decided to move. The East Village of today isn't the one we knew two years ago, let alone the one from "Rent", or the one that Charlie Parker, Allen Ginsberg and Astor Piazzolla knew in their time.






   
   

Our block seems to be in a giant holding pattern. The four corners of 12th and A -- once occupied by a funeral parlor, a copy shop, a "straight" bar ("The Raven") and a "gay" bar ("The Cock") -- have all been emptied, and on the rental market for at least a year, but no takers. ("The Raven" burnt down in a fire in late summer 2006 -- but then the whole building was promptly vacated and is only now in black scaffolding, one year later.) The church, "Mary Help of Christians", and the adjacent flea market, closed a few months ago under rumors that the land was being bought for a condo development and/or NYU dorms.

At least two live-music venues closed this year in the neighborhood: Tonic (on Norfolk street), and Mo Pitkin's (on Avenue A). Another venue, Drom, is having difficulties with its landlord, and its opening has been delayed for months. Another venue, The Living Room, lives on -- but thanks to generous support from its graduates, like Norah Jones. The Second Avenue deli is gone, as are the Polish meat stores on 1st Avenue.. But Veselka thrives, and so it may for the revival of many an Eastern-European soul, seeking quality borscht.

We've been trying to guess which of our nearby storefronts would become the first Starbucks on Avenue A, but then we realize that it's not so simple -- the local Community Board would have a field day collecting signatures against it. But if not for a giant corporate outfit, who else could afford the rent? Certainly not a coffee shop, designer store, neighborhood bar, or any other store which doesn't have a strong mail-order business or other means of support.

One of the things that is great about the East Village is its diversity -- and largely that diversity has been driven by real estate, a very different kind of "Old Money" than uptown, on 5th Avenue. On our block lives a man whose rent is $140/month for a two-bedroom; a musician specializing in Cuban music lives in a storefront. They've lived through rough times, and have seen the neighborhood change for the better. But could they cash in their low-rent and move elsewhere? One thing that hasn't changed at all is the Subway access. Despite luxury condo developments on Avenue D, they're still going to be a 15-30 minute walk from the nearest stop. The NYC Subway -- unlike the real estate market -- takes years to make a decision. Wouldn't it be great if (for example) the L train stopped on 14th Street and Avenue C, or if there was a subway line along 23rd Street that went straight to Greenpoint?

We'll miss the East Village which we remember, but we well know that it no longer stands. Whoever owns the buildings and storefronts has something different in mind now, and we wish them well.

==>Here's a collection of photos I took in the E. Village on the day before Halloween.

==> Here's a list of places we'll deeply miss being walking distance to -- please support them, lest they may soon disappear:


-- Veselka -- the gleaming beacon of Ukranian/Polish cooking, open 24-hours a day, with free WiFi and excellent borscht, vegetable soup, and stuffed cabbage.

-- Neptune -- the absolute best outdoor patio secret in the East Village, with lovely vegetable soup and cold borscht.

-- Ciao for Now - despite our best attempts to stray from its beloved smells, Ciao For Now is our neighborhood bakery of choice. The scones are Inna's favorite worldwide, the vegetable soup delicious. Stay away from the coffee - it's miserably weak.

-- Pukk -- Inna votes this as the best overall Thai restaurant in Manhattan, and despite its Vegetarian-only dishes, even carnivores go here for the wonderful curries and sates. Great vibe, superb lunch specials and quick delivery.

-- Fake Orchid -- another tiny delicious Thai eatery, which we've eaten at very rarely, as it's mostly closed. Try their specials, they're delicious.

-- Hummus Place -- Fresh Hummus made in the great Israeli tradition - mostly by cooks from Mexico & South America. Regardless, the experience of going to the Hummus place is as authentic as can be found. Thankfully, the Hummus Place empire has expanded to the Upper West Side

-- Curly's Vegetarian Lunch -- a fantastic family-run Vegetarian restaurant, with all the great healthy staples. California vibe and decor, superb service. Our mainstay brunch..

-- 7A -- great brunch specials, best Eggs Florentine in the neighborhood. Open 24-hours a day. Delicious.

-- Kamui Den -- a lovely and stylish new Japanese restaurant, which has yet to get its liquor license.

-- Westville East -- a loud all-American joint which serves delicious, healthy food. We stress that it's loud -- but it's really good. Great "market" specials on the board.


So long, East Village! Hello, beloved Upper West Side.

There's one nice thing about having a flu -- immediately, you begin to see the world around you as if from a hidden camera, observing as though you don't exist. It's not the lack of care, it's just a common understanding that I need lots of rest to get better.

Sitting as I were at Barnes & Noble in Union Square, looking at mass-market murals of Orwell, Nabokov, Joyce, Shelley, Woolf and others having coffee on the walls, I couldn't help but notice one thing -- the lighting in their time was different. For some it was candelight, and later, the tinny gold-rose color of the early bulbs, then yellow... And now, permanent noon-light, infinite c-major, that wonderful energy-efficient glow hovers above at all hours, "productive white".

I'd be curious to read magazines from the early era of electricity, articles by those, who wanted to "take back the night", the mystery, the personal time of things and people unobserved, unaccounted.

I'm also infinitely curious as to what might happen in the future, and how this hue may change. In the little that I've experienced of globalization, one motive is persistent -- the yearning desire to spend more time with family, to watch TV and eat, talk, to celebrate every occasion, the little sliver of personal time still left.

This week, Radiohead released their new album, In Rainbows, exclusively via their website, and on an honor system -- pay what you wish. WNYC Radio's Soundcheck did a great episode covering this story, and you can hear it, and see my comments on the Soundcheck website. (Of particular interest may be the part about "REFUND" button.)

In a separate instance, Moby launched Moby Gratis to give away a large library of his music for use in independent features and short films and other non-profit ventures. Licensing, touring, and merchandising are the last fronts for an artist to make a living -- and now this.

As an independent artist writing for film, I'm all for making music *affordable*, but giving it away for *free* is another story altogether. As we learned from the dot-com bubble, *free* is not a business model, it doesn't pay for rent, health insurance, or the production of any further music.

By Moby -- a big shot, by any standard -- giving tracks away, he undercuts many musicians who would be happy to license their music for a small fee; or beginner/student/amateur composers, who would write custom music for free, if only given the chance.

Case and point -- several years ago, a student filmmaker asked me to write a track similar to Moby's "Honey". Since then, I'm proud to say that has been used in several shorts, and just got licensed for a wonderful upcoming documentary. With Moby's Gratis, this would've never happened.

There's a reason that subscriptions to magazines still cost something, even if it's $20/year. Every dollar helps.

Let's make music licensing affordable to everyone - everyone can afford to chip in something, however symbolic it may be.


Thanks!

--Ljova

Here's a dirty secret: I've got a dominant personality. And, I'm a violist.

The trouble is -- it's not really secret. Everyone knows that I'm a violist, and most of you know about my personality. In music, I like to lead, provoke a reaction, and cause trouble. In life -- in the company of family, friends, and colleagues -- I like to watch quietly, wait, and weigh in only when it's almost too late. I don't like to play melodies -- I like to be an accompanist, a sort of viola-playing wise-monkey, if you will.

Such are the natural constraints of my personality. But is it worth changing, changing my natural way, or masking it heavily?

It would seem yes -- my personality is unfit for playing chamber music (too democratic), for studying (I learn best by abstract osmosis), or for much less other than being the center of attention. Modesty is not a feeling I can relate to -- it's just a synonym for "back door".

Throughout my formative years, I have not joined any camp or counterculture -- I never bonded with any side of academic or musical orthodoxy, and I have never joined the cutting edge. It's as if I walk a few paces behind time, shaping the dust into sand castles. This has been beneficial -- I get called for a wide variety of gigs...

The trouble with growing up as an artist is that you can't allow yourself to lose your childish innocence, in spite of mounting responsibilities and various other cogs maturity may throw in your direction. You can't rely on anyone's opinion (maybe even excluding the ones you love), and you certainly shouldn't do anything except leading -- using whatever means available.

It seems that an artist -- or, my artist -- is potentially a person in search of a bully pulpit, a soapbox from which to shout...

(none of this, naturally, should ever prevent me from reading books and being awed, standing in the back of the audience with a dropped jaw, or being otherwise speechless in front of X&Y)