A Monumental Folly: The Tragedy of the Six-Foot Pedestal

It has come to my attention, dear readers, that our modern age of entertainment has succumbed to a most peculiar form of madness. One observes a certain class of gentlemen—artists by profession—who seem to believe that the grandeur of a spectacle is inversely proportional to the comfort of the audience. Such is the case with the esteemed Mr. Dima Bilan and his recent foray into the arena of public amusement.

Mr. Yuri Loza, a gentleman of some musical standing and a keen observer of these follies, has seen fit to cast a critical eye upon the matter. He suggests, with a touch of weary irony, that Mr. Bilan’s preparations for his Moscow gala were conducted with a complete disregard for the living, breathing souls in the gallery. Loza posits that certain performers today fancy themselves as deities, owing nothing to the very public that sustains them. He recalls, with a sigh of melancholy, a previous triumph following the 'Eurovision' contest, where the scale of the production was designed for the gaze of the distant world, rather than the eyes of the local attendee.

«Our vanity, it seems, is more precious than gold,» Mr. Loza remarked, noting the absurdity of twenty thousand souls being forced to endure jests told in the English tongue, without a single soul to translate them into the vernacular. A most droll situation, indeed—to be entertained by silence and confusion!

Indeed, the tragedy lay in the architecture of the event. Certain unfortunate patrons, who had purchased tickets for the dancing area, found themselves staring not at a singer, but at a veritable wall. For Mr. Bilan had seen fit to ascend a platform six feet in height—a pedestal of such arrogance that it rendered the artist invisible to those beneath him. One might as well attempt to admire a postage stamp while standing beneath a mountain.

When confronted with these complaints, Mr. Bilan responded with the grace of a man defending a failed experiment. He spoke of 'innovation' and 'technological solutions,' claiming that such novelty rarely behaves with propriety upon its first outing. Alas, it appears that in the pursuit of the modern 'mode,' the simple joy of seeing the performer has been sacrificed upon the altar of mechanical ambition.