And, well, you’ve really got something.
Watching Symphonie Concertante from the wings of the theater, the stage during the orchestral climaxes seems to be a geyser of women’s legs vectoring in every direction, enormous white tutus frothing and cascading in mathematically controlled euphoria, and very loud pointe shoes hammering in time to those surging strings.
The first time I had that experience, I almost felt submerged in the tumult of that classically pure and palpably stampeding ballet.