Ben as I didn't know him

I have been to a lecture on the interpretation of 'Six Metamorphoses after Ovid' (Opus 49) by Benjamin Britten with particular emphasis on the second movement, Phaeton. Obviously I have a full technical grasp of all the arcane issues surrounding the craft of oboe playing, but - reluctantly - I will have to assume that you don't. I will therefore restrain myself to observing that it would seem that different people like to play it in different ways. Who would have thought it? However, all oboeists, even today, appear to be restricted in what they do because they remain in awe of Ben (as they all refer to him, as if they had known him well) and his strict views on how his works should be played. This is despite the fact that he's been dead for almost forty years. All of which rather puts me in mind of Salvador Dali's reputed aversion to the performing arts because of their transitory and impermanent nature.

Presumably there are a number of you wondering why a major twentieth century composer wrote a piece of music about a Volkswagen, but hopefully there are a larger number of you familiar with the story of the son of the sun god who was allowed to ride his father's chariot, lost control of the winged horses and plunged to earth when Zeus fired a thunderbolt in order to prevent him from burning up the whole world. The latter among you, of course, will be pointing out that Phaeton did not undergo a metamorphosis as such, but instead, well, died. I did mention this at the time to Ben, as he liked me to call him, but he simply blamed Ovid and that was the end of it.

Anyway, the one thing that we can all agree on is that it's a good job that in this enlightened modern era no callow youth would be allowed to abruptly take over his father's role and imperil the planet by not knowing what he is doing.

'Let others praise ancient times; I am glad I was born in these.' - Ovid