One woman tells another that lately her head has been like a hornet's nest. She notices inside her skull a continuous hum of bad thoughts. Where are the good ones? Why haven't they made an appearance lately? Bad thoughts sometimes overwhelm everything because, apparently, according to experts, the human mind as soon as it captures a problem has the habit of trying to solve it. She sees a problem and throws herself on the iron. She engages in the conflict like a plumber rolling up his sleeves to her pipe.
The mind has the vocation of a plumber, luckily on the one hand, of course. Unfortunately for the other, if he is no longer dedicated to something else. You can't spend the whole day with the wrench from here to there, wanting repairs, in continuous goings-on, in the mirror in the bathroom, the elevator or the subway, the seat in a theater or the bedroom, oblivious to the world, without listening. nobody or find out anything. Living is also discovering one problem after another, as is well known, that's the way things are.
The fact is that one woman says that her head is like a hornet's nest and the other tells her to think that right now, precisely these days, the cherry trees are in bloom in Japan. She crosses a silence. In all probability, the more or less accurate image of some cherry blossoms makes its way into that woman's hornet's nest. It's a bit of a wild contrast, who knows what happens in that poor skull, among pinkish flowers and excited wasps. Her friend could have limited herself to the flowering cherry trees of the Jerte valley, but for some reason she did not seem enough to him. She has preferred to launch it to Japan. And you know her -she adds as if that were not enough-, while you sit like this, in a turbulent period, she only listens to Bach; Mahler's villa now don't even think about it.
We listen to Mahler's fifth. The themes take us from one side to the other, without respite, in a desperate contrast. This Mahlerian journey, even in times of crisis, is not a bad way to let go. There is definitely no holding on in Mahler's fifth. Like a small boat in the middle of the ocean, the orchestra does what it wants from you. You fluctuate from agitation to calm, from tenderness to abruptness, from shaking to caressing, from the kettledrum to the violin, as in life itself, unexpectedly, things come like that.
