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The Composers' Ensemble concert last night featured a setting of a Sarah Manguso poem, read live by Sarah Manguso. Oh no. Hearing a poem recited is always uncomfortable, even when I know it (I did); more so when it's paralyzingly slow & broken up against the syntax; more so when it goes on over a series of bleeps; more so when the poet's voice is distorted with a celeste-like warble; more so when the poem is then 'randomized' and rapped (or something) by the composer.
For those who've demanded more drink-blogging, I bought a bottle of Balvenie 12. It's just down the hill from the Glenfiddich distillery, yet it's utterly different. It's a unique one, in fact. The bouquet is a little cloying at first, not peaty or smoky, plenty of honey & vanilla, but a deep sniff yields aggressive fruits at the tops of your nostrils, maybe, hopefully, orange. The body is described as 'huge' (almost sour). As you swallow there's a hard moment of disappointment as you think it has no finish whatever. Then it warms your mouth with sherry and some riddle of pleasantness. Let your mouth hang open. It's a nice, summery whisky, not as sweet as I worried it might be, with a lingering, if not exquisite, body.