It was a commission for which I was profoundly unqualified, except in one regard: I wanted to visit Dubai. I was driven there from Dubai International by a man in his early 20s, from Uttar Pradesh, who had come to the Gulf state three years ago in search of work. I arrived late, the night before the competition started, and rode the gold-minareted elevator to a room on the fifth floor. If you want to know how it feels to have slaves, in the modern world – and not be blamed openly for this desire – visit Dubai. Human chattel or gritted-teeth legitimacy from the world of classical music, both are freely for sale in Jumeirah.