At the heart of the concert is a remarkable set piece following Quiet in the South. The house starts to burn, its air of Douglas Sirk melodrama and stultifying domesticity tumbling into Hitchcockian mania.
We had dinner and then went off to this Senegalese club in San Francisco where I've danced for years. She didn't dance. Her sister danced. She was very, very shy, actually, in some ways. I did the dancing for her.