Performed by Virago Symphonic Orchestra Conducted by Pascale Van Os Text written by Anke Verschueren based on texts, interviews, quotes, letters of the composer: Good evening. Welcome. We're in Paris, the '50s. 1850s. And I cannot get away from behind my father's piano. When my fingers tremble over the white, the black keys, I can feel the tingling up to my toes. This is my place. There's no place in the conservatory. For a body that's built thin, a body that occasionally has a dress and braids and soon breasts, for a girl, that one day will be a woman. Hermann Zenta. That's what I call myself on paper. On score, actually. They want to listen to his songs. My songs. Poetry the skeleton, the sounds the flesh. My body is music. My talent has no breasts. or testosterone. I put my teeth in the notes, Thread them open, thread them together, until they sound even bigger than I hoped. I persevere. I'm mighty, far from powerful, but I'm moving forward. To every note in the right place, each instrument tuned correctly, every sound the right start. They say I'm "my own man". They're wrong. I'm a woman. Not Hermann Zenta, I'm Augusta Holmès.