I love music passionately. And because l love it, I try to free it from barren traditions that stifle it. It is a free art gushing forth — an open-air art, boundless as the elements, the wind, the sky, the sea.
The century of airplanes has a right to its own music.
The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.
I think someone took my copy of The Rest is Noise by Alex Ross. Right off my desk. I want it back. After I get my book back, I shall lock the thief in a dark room for a week with only Cheetos, Yanni, and warm diet cream soda.
When soprano Jane Eaglen and baritone Dean Elzinga walked out onto the stage of Eastman Theatre last October, I expected to be dazzled by Eaglen’s powerhouse, Wagnerian voice. But Elzinga was a surprise, equally forceful in Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Sea Symphony, based on Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass.” Elzinga delivered a warm, rich tone similar to that of Bryn Terfel, but with a mournful aspect. He was, in a word, spooky.
I missed the bus home yesterday. After considering various options, I hopped the next one, knowing it would only take me halfway. The second, pokey bus dropped me off on a springy bit of green turf outside what was, is, and ever more shall be my favorite used bookstore. Oh, joy! I walked in with a light heart and about seven bucks.
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