music has an afterlife, creation, a hereafter; like echoes of a conversation -- anger, tears, or laughter -- i hear your music now, and think how strange is time and fortune to know you, and this place, are gone, but hear you sans distortion (In memory of Roy Harris…)
At 180 months, nobody Understood me like Prokofiev, The solitary walker in the white Of he Russia and me Florida Who knew my intervailing times Of drama and lyric introspection And who knew that underneath it all Lies the universal state of life: Dissonance
I’m writing this on New Year’s Eve And listening to string quartets By Shostakovich, and They’re awesome. For, while life is full of messes, Stains, and blotches — these, instead, Are absolutely Perfect. And it makes A nice contrast Photo credit : ID 53562673 Ukrphoto | Dreamstime.com
As a teen, classical music was my greatest love, my strongest passion — But the business of it was catty, and shallow, and competitively spiteful: all I cared about was the music So, I elected to find another line of work, choosing to continue to play music, but not be in the grind of competitions … Continue reading "Classical Condundrum"
always bringing joy, and comfort – and still here, always (The below is a clip of me playing the last movement of a Haydn piano sonata, mistakes and all. – Owen)
I remember it well, I think.
I had an unfortunate visit today...
You might not know what you're missing. Or care, unfortunately.
My tastes have tended long to run Towards the quite obscure: In music and in painting and In much of literature It’s never really bothered me Or, not enough to fuss: That there are few I’ve ever found To chat with or discuss These things I love. For instance, In his early college days A. … Continue reading "Four Motets"