Well may you blink--but this is gloriously for real: on the cover is a woman struggling into a long black dress with an instrument case propped alongside.
And in the tenor of a suspense tale, ""one hundred and five people"" variously bathe and shower, shave and towel, don ""undershorts or briefs,"" ""petticoats or slips, and brassieres""--until, item-by-item, step-by-step, the unidentified one-hundred-and-five ""walk out of one hundred and five doors, into one hundred and five streets, and. . . take cabs, cars, subways, or buses to the middle of the city."" One man, who ""has wavy black hair streaked with white,"" has been dressing himself differently; and this obviously distinguished personage strides into a waiting limousine. Then, with the same meticulous detailing, the one hundred and four others take their seats (for the double bass players, stools); ""the man with the black wavy hair lit with white enters,"" ""steps one step up onto a box called a podium,"" and, at the wave of his baton, ""the hall. . . fills with music."" What is quite wonderful about this is that it's neither jokey nor artsy: the very notion of 105 diverse, scattered people dressing to assemble and play a symphony is attuned to children's curiosity and to the nature of music performance.
Great fun, then, that's also an inspired approach to concert-going.