I was going through some old files, and I found this, which I wrote years ago. I hope you get a kick out of it, and perhaps can add a few "memories" of your own.
Twas the concert eve rehearsal, and all through the hall,
The tempo was dragging; it was down to a crawl.
The music was placed on the stands with care,
In hopes that the audience soon would be there.
In the midst of the Beethoven, I heard such a clatter,
That I rose from my stupor to see what was the matter.
From the very back aisle came the ghost of Jascha,
Striding along like a magnificent pasha.
I noticed that when Jascha entered the hall,
That contrary to myth, he wasn't that tall.
The entire orchestra was frozen with fear.
The conductor looked like he could use a beer.
Jascha leaped to the podium, his Guarnerius in hand;
It was clear from the shock, that this wasn't planned.
He pointed out the orchestra's mistakes and such,
And he shook when he laughed (which wasn't that much).
"The tempo is wrong; you're playing too slow,"
He shouted, "I will show you how this thing should go."
He demonstrated by playing the Beethoven so fast,
That the notes flew by like a jet engine's blast.
Then he said, "Now you play it at the tempo I take."
The orchestra tried, but it was clearly a mistake.
"This is terrible," said Jascha, "Don't give me any flack.
I've had it with you; I'm going back,
To be with artists whom I get to pick,
To play with Fritz and Pablo and Nick."
And we heard him say as he disappeared out of sight,
"Have a good concert, all, though you won't play it right." ?
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