It was in the evening after dinner and a day’s work at the law office on Little Bridge Street. There were no meetings to attend or social conventions. It was a performance repeated often and with identical prescription. I was alone at my desk in my upstairs study. It was a time before my French bulldog Monroe had been recommended to me by Marilyn Harris. What it was that then preoccupied me at my IBM computer I do not know for certain. Computers were new. No doubt then – not unlike now – I was typing an account of my daily thoughts (as I have been doing since I was 14 years of age), probably using WordPerfect as the platform for an expanding collection of entries which replaced my former typewritten or handwritten entries in tiny plastic covered diaries and legal size hardcover lined paper or blank typed paper in leather bound and gold embossed 3-ring binders. The cathartic accounts – whatever their vernacular – were forever proscribed by immediacy and irrelevancy. I was constantly overwhelmed by the present.  And while the daily account altered immeasurably – like watching the mounting corn stalks – things nonetheless unfolded.

Live at the Acropolis is the first live album and concert film by the Greek keyboardist, composer, and producer Yanni, released on March 1, 1994, on Private Music. It was recorded at the Herodes Atticus Theatre in Athens, Greece during his 1993 tour in support of his eighth studio album, In My Time (1993). The concert took a year and a half to organise and cost Yanni $2 million of his own money to fund. He performs with his six-piece band and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Shahrdad Rohani. The album was mixed and produced by Yanni in his studio, and was made into a television special which aired in the United States on Public Broadcasting Service (PBS).

The music is generally considered eclectic. Its appeal proved to be universal, climbing from triple platinum – 300 million copies sold – to in excess of 600 million although it was of course not immune to discredit.

A negative review came from the Village Voice’s Robert Christgau, who called the album “affluent spirituality cum cornball romanticism from a florid New Age maestro.”

The persuasive sound resonates with me even now. I suspect I listened to the music from a CD stuck into the computer mounted like a portable machine on the floor beside the desk – an option now both impossible and improbable not to mention unnecessary.  I doubt I used headphones (I am now employing – Bose© QC Ultra).

Interestingly it was another Greek – Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou known professionally as Vangelis – who inspired a similar musical interest (Chariots of Fire). The effect of electronic music over the appeal of the Steinway salon grand piano culminated in my eventual disintegration from the musical hobby. Now I only listen to music.