A little night music...
Isn't it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground; you in midair.
Stayed home last night, while the thunder rolled and the lightning struck.
Watched Stephen Sondheim's "A Little Night Music," the 1990 revival, from Lincoln Center, starring Sally Ann Howes as Desiree.
I drank some Roncier. Smoked a La Seleza. Seemed the thing to do.
You know the song I love. "Send in the Clowns." Well, maybe next year...
I heard Sinatra do it, once for Reprise, again at Caesar's Palace. His is the definitive version, but Howes hits it, puts it in perspective, lamenting the lover that is no longer hers.
It's sad and it's poignant but it's wonderful and it's honest. Sondheim says he intended no existential imagery. The clowns are not from the circus. They are the jokes, the one-liners you use when the show stinks.
Don't bother, they're here...
I blew a smoke ring and thought about the past and was glad it was gone. And I thought about timing, how difficult the whole damn thing is, making a connection, finding a rhythm.
Just when I stopped opening doors; finally finding the one that I wanted was yours.
Who knows why we react to music? To a little night music. On a night when the thunder rolls and the lightning strikes.
Isn't it rich?