Back from a labored rendition of Satie's Socrate at the new Beacon, where Calder's irrelevant decor stole the show crassly. It's not that I mind a lousy performance in itself (most performances of most things are lousy and one ends up not going); but when the highly literary though non-musical public (Sontag et alia) is hearing this piece for the first time, judging it solely through the rendition, then storing it away among avant-garde masterpieces now known, why do they feel unsatisfied? I take more pleasure in mu own crude renditions, since my imagination fills in the gaps.