Francois Boi(e)ldieu

So, there I was, sitting in my music history class, awkwardly fumbling under my chair for my phone, which I'd dropped for the second time in about ten minutes, and neither my nimble flutey fingers nor Bryza's sharp guitar claws could find the rotten thing, and people kept straggling in late because the lecture theatre is in a side street, like not even IN the uni, and so our lecturer was getting peeved (but in a musicologist kinda way) and it was all madstressballs - and then this pretty picture came up on the screen, and I was like: thankyou.

His name is François-Adrien Boieldieu. Or Boildieu, depending on who you want to believe, my lecturer or Wikipedia. I know, Sophie’s Choice, right?

Anyway, he wrote Opéra Comique, which actually wasn’t generally all that funny. But Wagner liked him, and Berlioz thought he was alright, so that’s all that matters.

He lost his voice completely later in life, which must’ve been absolutely terrible. No real lulz there, huh? And then he died, as all composers do, in relative not-very-wealthy-ness.

But he was pretty in a vaguely boring lecture. Although I will get told that he is not in fact pretty, by people who know these things, or whatever. But I appreciate his mussed up hair, and exasperated yet fully deep facial expression, and also that mad neck tie-up thing. I must learn what that is called.

He is also either clasping a dog or grasping at a couch because he’s just so overwhelmed by the universe, man. I’m ok with either.