I went to a masterclass the woman said loudly. Do you know that the singers – beautiful voices – didn’t have a clue what they were singing about? The stranger across the table from me frowned in irritation the pages for the synopsis for Act Two of Rameau’s Castor et Pollux open in his hand. The woman repeated what she had already said a little differently this tme but with the same emphasis. Her friends muted friends listened on, holding their drinks and unsure how to change the topic. I stirred sugar into my Concertgebouw cappuccino, a cup small enough to finish in time for the second bell. It’s hard to understand the words the woman said loudly. Just think if a French singer…