Not quite what they expected

The Brighton Festival was a staple of my family's entertainment. So in 1979, when my mother received the festival program and saw John Williams was slated to play a concert, she bought tickets. 

The concert was, I think, in the Dome, an ornate Victorian era decor  theater in the center of Brighton.  

Some context is needed. My parents, or at least my father, were not big fans of popular music. The only contemporary music in the house was a 45 of Edith Piaf, and one of the Modern Jazz Quartet that for some reason was often played before I wend to bed when I was very young, perhaps one or two years old, to put me to sleep. It was affectionately known as "Ding-dong music", my term for the vibraphone at that age.  Otherwise it was Bach to Brahms; baroque to romantic, but nothing 20th century. Mahler, a favorite of my uncle Kurt, was tolerated but very seldom played. Mozart's Marriage of Figaro and the Magic Flute, by contrast, were routinely played alternate Sundays mornings.  But I digress. 

As we found our way to our seats, I was surprised to see a huge mixing desk in the middle of the stalls, not something one sees for a classical solo recital.  The concert began with "Westway" which starts with a driving synth keyboard riff played by Frances Monkman and the electric bass of Herbie Flowers.  It was something of a surprise to my parents, who had been expecting John Williams top be playing classical musics on acoustic guitar. 

I thoroughly enjoyed the show (I think there was a light show) and bought the group's first album, which I played as often as I was allowed at home until a year later when I bought my own record player, amplifier and speakers (the speakers I still have to this day). I don't recall my parents discussing the snafu; my father didn't care for Sky's music and my mother must have been mortified. Horizons weren't easily broadened; although since I'm almost the age my father was then, I wonder whether in five years or so I'll be similarly set in my ways.