The Vikingur Olafsson concert of the Goldberg Variations at the MRC was majestic.  The five-star review in The Age was right to say that the audience was in awe – they paused long at the pregnant ending before erupting.  He plays with a cool matter of fact manner that I find engrossing.  When I put the Leicas on him, I was surprised to see he had patent leather shoes under a lounge suit and a Myers tie.  He wears glasses and needs a  haircut – as do I.  It was a privilege to be there.  The warmth and support of the audience felt tangible.  He is also a natural with the mike.  By the time he had finished, he could have walked  back to Iceland.

I knew what the producers of 37 at the Sumner Theatre wanted to say about race and footy in Oz, but I am not sure that they had determined the type of vehicle they were driving for that purpose.  I am familiar with the blokey tone of small-town footy clubs, and I have seen and heard at first hand the vile abuse directed at Adam Goodes in pubs 100ks from the Big Smoke.  37 gets it for both, but I personally did not need the reminder.  I thought it veered from corny to gauche to crass.  But the full house sounded like they loved it.  They must have been more in the mood for a homily than me.  And the coach did a great imitation of Justin Langer in the toils.

At least it was better than Meet Me at Dawn – but that tells me nothing.  The halt and infirm of the MTC crowd – including me – are very loyal.