I have many great memories of witnessing Ligeti performances, done by folks like Salonen, Boulez, Aimard, the Arditti SQ, et al., but my favorite performance was one that was not done by professional musicians. It took place at the Cleveland Museum of Art, in front of a desolate and haunting painting by German artist Anselm Kiefer titled "Lot's Wife;" the painting on a lead foil canvas appears to depict an abandoned rail yard:
http://www.clevelandart.org/exhibcef...g/KIEFER_1.jpg
The musical work was Ligeti's Poeme Symphonique. The metronomes were started in unison by about 100 non-musicians. We sat and watched the metronomes slowly "die out," until only a few and then only one persistent one were left. Seeing the work in front of the Kiefer painting was incredibly poignant. It was impossible for me not to think of the work in existential terms, or in biographical terms (e.g., Ligeti's incredible story of survival and escape from under two brutal regimes), but also in historical terms, in relation to Germany's history, and the cattle cars that transported European Jews and other targeted groups to concentration camps. Suddenly, a work that had always seemed a joke to me took on a depth I had not imagined it having. A work that began by sounding like the clickety clack of a train riding on rails became at the end the sound of a human pulse, or human heart, struggling to remain alive amidst an inhuman environment, while the rest of us, the world, sat and watched and did nothing.
I don't think I was the only person in the audience who was moved by what was seen and heard.