The first time I heard le Sacre du Printemps was in New York, part of my husband's classic music appreciation exercise. We went to Avery Fisher Hall and after the show went to the Empire Hotel (torn down or moved) opposite Lincoln Center. I remembered the dark velvet curtains at the hotel bar. We met a former high rank executive of Pfizer who just underwent a throat surgery due to heavy smoking. He could no longer talk so he took the option of heavy drinking.
Then par hazard I saw the ballet in a long haul airplane - contrast to Nicolas Roerich's colorful costumes, it was a group of faceless and colorless individuals. Too chic. It was the movie that truly carved the music in my mind with it's power of dissonances and asymmetries. Listening to him is like to appreciate Picasso. What a comparison to the delightful Tchaikovsky violin concerto which is the hallmark of beautiful music!
So, what happened in the mind of the chosen one, the lucky one and the doomed one when she was chosen? If I were her, I would be dancing and eying the village elder, strangle him or kick him in the head, make it an efficient sacrifice of two to God - if that helps.
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