So, while a coterie of aging, formally clad classical musicians were struggling to follow along with the arrangements, long-haired yahoos in black concert t-shirts pressed themselves forward toward the front row, double-fisting beers, pounding on the stage, and shouting for us to play “Sugar” and “Chop Suey!” It was like one group came thinking they’d be playing Wagner to retirees, and the other came expecting the mosh pit at Ozzfest. After the show, my piano player came off, shaking his head in disbelief, muttering “They’re just uncivilized!”
