Screw you, French performance artist

So my daughter’s orchestra is playing several pieces this cycle that have next to no percussion in them, and the conductor decided to add in a percussion ensemble piece so the drummers would stay out of trouble. The percussion instructor gave them a choice between two pieces that were written for the number of people they have. One was 3 people playing on one marimba, complete with swapping places and mallets and stuff. The other was, well, this:

Now, faced with that choice, which one are the teenagers going to pick? The one that involves marimba (which none of them are great at) and is written in regular musical notation, or the one that looks super cool but was written in batshit crazy semi-musical semi-choreographical bullshit notation  by a French performance artist?

Yeah.

So far with this piece I’ve gotten to usher my child through two full-on, the world is ending, I’m going to die crying jags related to this piece. We called her percussion teacher in ON A SUNDAY for an emergency lesson.

We have watched the video dozens of times with the music (and it’s SIX PAGE KEY OF NOTATIONS) in front of us, trying to get to the point where we can read it. And by “we” I mean “we,” because apparently she is unable to cope with this piece if I am more than 40 feet away. Forget going to the gym - I can’t even go upstairs. If I am not within sight (or sometimes hearing) of her, she loses all ability to try to figure it out.

Yes, it’s true - I have become my daughter’s Emotional Support Animal. Give me a fucking vest and a seat on the plane.

And you know what? I can do this. It’s not quite what I signed on for, but I’ll do it. If it ends up with her performing this piece of ... Er, this PIECE at the concert, up in front of an audience of hundreds with only two teenage boys to protect her from the everlasting shame of failure, then I will sit within 40 feet of her, half an hour a day, until she knows she’s got this. Because she does.