In Tully hall last night Thomas Scherman began conducting Eleven Studies for Eleven Players. After five minutes it became clear that the players were sabotaging the conductor with my music as weapon. After thirteen minutes, or roughly halfway through the piece, I got up and walked out. (The Post today reports a beautiful performance of a beautiful work!) I've rarely enjoyed hearing my music in public unless I'm performing, and hence tangibly responsible for the catastrophe. To sit impotent during a massacre is to be blamed for the massacre in place of the massacrers. Even during a glorious rendition I am uneasy, embarrassed by those sounds thought up too long ago to cover my present nakedness.