The Occasional Editorial - Issue 74A concert hall. The strains of Rachmaninov's Vocalise floats sickly sweetly from an orchestra playing on stage. There is a conductor with bad arm coordination conducting them. Strangely, there is a small metal ring with three spokes attached to his head.
A somewhat unshaven man in conductor's garb and with a bad hairdo walks into the hall, talking loudly to no one in particular. There is a smell of Heineken beer about him.
Engineer's Son: My ge'randfarr'dr boo-yilt dis faktry. My farr'dr was an engini-eer. So were my bu'rathers.
Conductor: ENOUGH! This is Wreck-maninoff! And you are ONLY playing notes! Intelligence means nothing without inspiration!
Engineer's Son: Guess which path I choose in life?
A violinst by the name of Farah Chang looks quizzically at the unshaven man.
Conductor: You! Yes, you with the bad hair - this is Wreck-maninoff! What are you doing here in my lane?
Engineer's Son: You cut into my lane first, and without signalling. I have come to conduct my masterpiece.
Before the Conductor can do anything, the Engineer's Son shoves him off the stage (weaving through three lanes without signalling due to the beer) and begins to conduct his score. The brass play a flourish as the orchestra plays a few chords tutti. There is a grandiose but completely clichéd piano glissando and a final chord. The music is finished in 8 seconds.
Conductor: ENOUGH! This is... this is... I don't know what the hell this is! But you are ONLY playing notes! Inspiration means nothing without intelligence!
Engineer's Son: Mamma mia, what on earth are you talking about?
Conductor: Your stupid music - it is obviously the inspiration of a drunkard! Where is the intelligence? [Points to the symbol on his head].
Engineer's Son: To me, the most important ting, is to be true to yourself [hic]. Your car is noisier than my music!
Conductor: Rubbish! Intelligence means nothing without inspiration! Wreck-maninoff will have your head for playing this rubbish! And mixing conducting with beer! - remember Glazunov was drunk when he conducted Wreck-maninoff's First Symphony and ruined it!
Engineer's Son: What intelligence?? Your car has a stupid crosshair in front and yet you cannot drive straight! It is just like your stupid conducting! I have never seen anyone with such bad arm coordination! Is that why you can't even drive your own car? You only wreck the music like you wreck your car!
Conductor: What stupid jumping and waving you do on the podium? Who do you think you are? Leonard Ber-
At this point, time stops. The Editor appears.
Editor: OK, enough is enough. As millions of viewers and TV stations have already wasted enough time watching these two goons, it is now up to The Flying Inkpot TM to do what must be done.
A huge trailer truck smashes into the concert hall. The piano that has stupidly been placed on its side on the trailer tips over and crushes the Engineer's Son with a loud smash in C minor.
Just as the Conductor with the wheel-with-three-spokes symbol begins to laugh, a brilliant light appears above the stage. To the ominous medieval Dies Irae theme, the one and only SERGEI RACHMANINOV appears through the majestic splendour dressed as Death (but quite a handsome one). He aims a large D-minor chord at the crosshair-like symbol on the Conductor's head and shoots him dead. The orchestra laughs and takes out their score for the Isle of the Dead, muttering something about "...more interesting than Vocalise...". Rachmaninov scoops up the soul of the dead Conductor and begins giving him lessons on pronunciation and bodily coordination. The soul of the Engineer's Son is trawled behind Death's boat so that he can drink himself silly with water, still muttering "My ge'randfarr'dr boo-yilt dis faktry..."
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"My gerrandfarr'der boo-yilt dis factry..." | Second Anniversary Editorial
Rachmaninov, the Dies Irae and the Symphonic Dances | The Isle of the Dead
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