“Good evening, Saint Peter. Nice to
see the Pearly Gates at last. My favourite music? That's a tough
question. On your questionnaire: my favourite string quartet must be
... oh hek ... let's say Beethoven C sharp minor Opus 131. My
favourite piano concerto? Oh, hek, again ... let's say either Mozart
K 488, or Rachmaninov's second. My favourite violin concerto?
Shostakovich A minor Opus 77. My favourite symphony? Mozart G minor K550, or Shostakovich
No.10 in E minor. My favourite whisky? Caol Ila”. Dmitri
Dmitriyevich scores high in my Pearly Gate entry list.
Some composers speak directly to a
listener; some are just listened to, and it has nothing to do with
“greatness”. Schubert speaks to me; Schumann does not.
Rachmaninov speaks to me; Scriabin does not. Shostakovich speaks to
me; Szymanowski does not. Like so much to do with music, the ultimate
abstract art form, it is almost impossible to describe in words.
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