Sonata No. 33 in E minor, Op. posthumous, “Tail Light”

– You’re late.

– I was composing.

– Decomposing.

– Bah. You make this same joke every time.

– You’re late every time.

– And now you will make the “late” joke. This joke makes no sense.

– Because your English isn’t that great.

– And you will not use German. Or French or Italian.

– You don’t like it when I pick stuff out of your mind. Besides, I have to concentrate on driving.

– Concentrate? You missed the exit for 278.

– We’re taking 87.

– 278 is faster.

– Not southbound. You just like it because it’s the “Bruckner” Expressway.

– Anton is a genius. He understands my work. He went to Bonn for me.

– You know, the expressway isn’t even named after your friend. There was just some politician from the Bronx.

– Always still it is faster.

– Hey, nobody likes a back-brain driver. Anyway, we should have left Milford an hour earlier.

– Why have you not simply started without me? You do not need me here for driving.

– I thought you wanted to warm up my hands. 

– “Warm up”?

– Practice, stretch muscles, loosen finger joints, get yourself ready.

– Yes, you do not do it correct.

– That’s what I’m saying. I’m not a pianist. I played clarinet in high school. Without you, I wouldn’t even know which end of the piano to blow into. I sat with my son’s electric keyboard and waited as long as possible, but you can never be sure about the traffic, so I had to hit the road.

– As said, I was busy composing. I am come now to the important place in my new symphony. I could not simply stop. 

– Couldn’t you just do it later?

– You cannot schedule genius. Also, we do not have alarm clocks here. Or paper to write on.

– You literally have eternity to write the symphony. Today we have a 6:30 call for a 7:30 curtain.

– For me the audience will wait. But even still, many of them will come in after I begin. They will talk, and cough like they die of phthisis, and always the cellphones will sing.

– Die of p-what?

– Phthisis. Consumption. The wasting.

– Ah. It’s called “tuberculosis” now. Or maybe COPD. I’m not sure. Anyway, lucky for you I will not slam the lid on the keys and storm off stage like you want.

– Why are you turning here? This is the Kitchen of Hell, yes?

– We have a reservation at a garage on 11th.

– So we will walk 20 blocks? Naturally we will arrive late!

– Well I can’t exactly drop you off at the venue while I park, can I? But no, we’ll catch a cab from the garage.

– I do not understand why you live so far from the city. You must get an apartment near Central Park so we can take the subway.

– If you keep canceling shows and blowing off deadlines, I won’t even be able to pay for gas, let alone space in Manhattan. Besides, you like the country better. And I have to stay a Connecticut resident.

– Why?

– Never mind. Just please try to appear a couple hours earlier for the next gig.

– You know, we do not have calendars up here, either.

– The Devil Duo never shows up late or cancels. Maybe that’s why they’re outdrawing you.

– Liszt? Paganini? Poltroons! Prostitutes! They waste their gifts with tricks and lights. It is a scandal. A disgrace, you would say.

– Still, you should consider their offer. You might even enjoy it.

– I work alone. Besides, I could never put up with those egoistical show-offs. Do not roll your eyes at me! I can tell when you do that, and I resent your implication.

– You resent everything.

– My agent should get me better deals. He is a poltroon.

– “Poltroon” again. Where did you even get that word? I never use it.

– Very well, then they are – how do you Americans call them? – A-holes? Schmucks?

– I’m actually from Canada originally. We call them “hosers.” At least our TV characters do.

– He should get me into bigger halls. I, who played for kings and emperors! Until that tyrant Napoleon came along. You roll your eyes again.

– Maybe it’s time to get over Napoleon. Nobody’s going to let him conquer Europe again. Besides, Lincoln Center is about as high-class as you can get here. You should be content.

– But this horrid duo gets the Schubert for eight weeks! Do you know they actually use sequined costumes and lewd dancing? They pollute the art of music!

– Meanwhile, Vlad the Impaler’s Comedy Sucks Tour is outdrawing all of you.

– Yes. Very bad taste. You people are all mad. Your century makes no sense.

– No argument there.

– Verdammt! Why did you allow that poltroon to cut you off? You should let me drive.

– Oh, that’s brilliant. Then we’ll both be shopping for new mediums.

– Should you not say “media”? Maybe I do not know English, but Latin cannot have changed.

– I’m rolling my eyes again. So you want bigger crowds and more downloads? Why don’t you write something happy? Your new sonata is so … so dismal. You should write something in a major key. OK, now who’s trying to roll my eyes?

– You will give instruction to the greatest musical genius of all time?

– Well, you’re good, but you’re no Jimi Hendrix.

– Touché.

– Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just, sometimes you rub people the wrong way.

– I do not rub anybody. I cannot.

– Well, you rub me, and I’m, what, your fifth medium in less than two years? Plus I’ve been dealing with some stuff.

– Say it to me.

– It’s my ex. He’s wants to change our custody agreement. I really hate lawyers. That’s why I can’t leave Connecticut.

– Do you regret agreeing to host me?

– I could certainly do without all that extra time making depositions about 200-year-old copyrights. You should just settle.

– So you give music advice, and now also legal advice? I pay real lawyers for their advice.

– But you don’t listen to them. Anyway BMI and SACEM can afford better lawyers — whose advice they actually take. You’ll never win in court.

– Maybe I will lose, but they will learn not to try to take advantage of the great artist.

– They will learn that doing business with you isn’t worth the hassle. And if you win, McCartney and Manilow will take you to the cleaners for quoting their material. Not to mention Mozart, Brahms, Rogers, Gershwin — pretty much everyone you’ve heard since you came back.

– Maestro Williams will not sue. He loves me. He knows respect for the master.

– John Williams is enjoying a peaceful retirement. He doesn’t need the money or the headache.

– I have been in court over custody, too, you know. I tried to save my nephew from his drunken father. The boy made suicide. Always still neither of them will talk to me.

– Committed.

– Eh?

– He “committed” suicide. Not “made” suicide.

– Ach, so. Also in German it is not “machen.”

– I know. “Begangen.” That’s funny, I never took German. It must be leaking through from your mind. I heard it can happen after enough sessions, even unintentionally.

– Yes, I have been — what do you say? — jonesing for a taco. I do not like tacos. You will not eat a taco while I am here. They make dyspeptic.

– I know. And it’s not “make dyspeptic,” it’s … never mind. Anyway, that’s all in your mind. Or in my mind. Whatever. At least, it’s my stomach. We can handle medium salsa just fine.

– This is the concert hall? 

– The backstage entrance.

– I will be brilliant tonight. Tomorrow you will help write down my new symphony. You must install Sibelius 7.5.1.

– Oh, so you don’t have alarm clocks or pencils or paper, but you know all about software updates?

– Of course. We have 7G everywhere, no dead spots.

– How ironic.

– Why is there no chamber pot in this dressing room?

– Hey, Louie.

– Yes, Miranda?

– I’m sorry about your nephew. Break a leg tonight.

– Neck and leg.

– Huh?

– We say, “Break your neck and leg.”

– God, you Germans are violent.

– We Germans? How do you Americans say? “Let’s knock them dead.”

– “Knock ’em dead.”

– Genau. We go now. We will kill them all.

– After you, Louie. And I told you, I’m Canadian, you hoser.

– You are a good woman. Thank you for having me. 

– You know, there’s a bodega next to the garage with great tacos. We can stop off after the show.

– Maybe I will play in Canada next year. I think I will like to try your hockey.

– Not with my teeth, you won’t.