I fed there and just waited for seats. I would always get in. I don't know how. Anywhere there is music, I feel, is my home. Home and music, especially in our century, never really coalesce.
Music implies travel.
Home, for Frank Brown, was almost as ephemeral and fleeting as a concert's bestowal of notes and emotion. Frank's father died in the Great War and his mother decided she would live her life apart, some but not all the time. Grandpa Frank and Grandma Sarah. Some people it doesn't suit but you, yes'. My aunt would be in California, someone else over there.