Tonight I’m supposed to be at a dream concert: Ennio Morricone conducting his own music. I say I’m supposed to be there because I won’t be there. Signore Morricone suffered an injury a while back and had to cancel his tour.
I was a fan of Morricone’s music before I even knew it. He wrote so many amazing scores for Spaghetti Westerns back in the day, and many of us know and love that music. “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” anyone? By the time I first saw “The Mission,” which has perhaps the most spectacular score I’ve ever heard, I was a Morricone nut.
When I heard Ennio Morricone was coming to L.A., I bit the bullet and bought my ticket. News of his injury broke my heart. Not only was I sorry for him, I was also sorry for me. Judge if you will – I’m just being honest.
My ticket purchase has been refunded and I can’t complain on that front. Actually, I’m not complaining at all. I suppose this is more of a lament. For something I may never get to experience. There’s just no telling, really. But I can still listen to Signore Morricone’s recorded music. And that counts for something. At least, it will have to.