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Jephtha

After sitting through my first ever oratorio last night at the Barbican, (Handel's Jephtha), I have reached two conclusions; the first is that there are few lives more dangerous than those of old testament offspring. Biblical Dad is often Bad Dad. If he's not trussing you up like a sheep for Yahweh's table (Thanks Abe) or offering your virginity to crowds for a gangbang so as not to mortify the houseguests (We owe you one, Lot) he's trying to burn you cos he made a vow (Cheers Jephtha) I don't get it. It's like ancient Greeks but with more angst. Why don't they stab themselves or offer themselves up to group buggery, or enter the fire themselves? Why's it always some kid that faces the flame? And why do peeps keep doing it when the Big Man insists he'd rather no-one got fried or raped?

My second conclusion is that despite some exquisite moments, 3 and a half hours of Handel without fireworks is quite enough for me.

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