Caracas, VenezuelaIt’s almost 5:30 p.m. as the sun sets in the capital. El Avila, the mountain that soars over the city, serves as a backdrop to the intruding racket—alarming honks from impatient motorists, scandalous screeches from macaws, jolting sirens from ambulances that seem near then fade into the distance—an audible journey across the disorderly reality of urban life.
On this November evening, the noise is replicated for an audience gathered on the rooftop of a luxurious hotel situated in the hills on the city’s eastern side, far from the overcrowded slums and traffic jams. Here the sounds of chaos are made by trumpets, trombones, and French horns carried by members of the Orquesta Sinfónica Gran Mariscal de Ayacucho.
This particular performance marks the
