Grasshopper

The operation is interesting and quite successful, I would say more thanks to the excellent Edin Karamazov than to Sting himself, who, however, manages pretty well considering his unique voice, which certainly isn't set according to classical standards. I would have done without the reading of epistolary excerpts from Dowland himself, complete with "natural" backgrounds straight out of a new age melodrama, which unnecessarily weighs down the work, but these are details, even if in the long run they occupy a not insignificant portion of the CD's duration. If needing to stretch things out, why not do it with another Dowland song? There were still some interesting ones left. No comment on the harsh criticism.

The operation is interesting and quite well executed, I would say more thanks to the excellent Edin Karamazov than to Sting himself, who still manages decently considering his unique voice, which is certainly not set according to classic criteria. I would have done without the reading of letter excerpts from Dowland himself, complete with "natural" backgrounds that weigh down the work unnecessarily, but these are details, even if in the long run they take up a considerable portion of the CD's duration. If you have to stretch the content, why not do it with some other song by Dowland? There were still some interesting ones.

I confess that my neurons have excited like baboons. Hearing about cultured topics in this way, diametrically opposed to the stuffy "cultural operators" style Radio Tre or the arcane specialized magazines, makes me think that the right key to combatting rampant sheep-like ignorance is precisely this: humour paired with culture. Verdi not as an illustrious and distant name from toponymy, but as "Peppino", Boito not as a genius and a wild spirit, but as the era’s "posh guy", and so on. Good so far... if this is a beginning, let’s prepare for more sumptuous delights of this kind. Congratulations, which I extend to your grandmother, whose ten commandments on books should definitely be framed and, above all, respected with Teutonic rigor.

I "celebrated" by listening to a memorable performance of Dvorak's Cello Concerto with the Berliner Philharmoniker conducted by Karajan (a sort of summit among titans), which is already moving in itself. I arrived late to the proper, sacred, and touching celebration on Debaser, but still in time to share the sense of emptiness that the absence of this artist, who "seemed to hold the key to this instrument" (I quote the phrase that seems most revealing to me), will leave in every classical music enthusiast, and perhaps not just classical.

They are very true (at least I've read them in various biographies; I wasn't there in person, even though I'm no longer a novice). They are real and give us an idea of how sometimes even genius and vulgarity can coexist, although it seems this "marcuzziano" language was a kind of playful "familial lexicon" for internal use, meant to strengthen connections within the Mozart family, whose members, quite eccentric, were often traveling. As for the Concertos, I too am stuck at Carmagnola (or Carmignola? That one anyway) and additionally, I have a good version of the old Josef Suk. If I had to put my three favorites on a CD, I would choose the last three (nos. 3, 4, and 5): in particular, the Fifth with its unforgettable Turkish march finale is unparalleled. Anyway, throw away the First! (just like the Second: and try throwing away something of Mozart in general). A cultured and "historical" review that makes me curious about Mullova's version, which I still don't have, although I've heard her in concert (being alive and well, in fact I would say in excellent shape, her records cost a bit more).

For Bjork. I would recommend all those I know, namely (in order of decreasing beauty): "Hejira" (see my review); "Blue" (already seen in my review); the excellent "Court And Spark," the first of the jazz turn; the outstanding and acoustic "Ladies Of The Canyon" and "For The Roses"; the enigmatic and jazzy "Mingus"; the immature yet touching "Clouds"; and finally "Both Sides" (see my review), which consists of covers but is interesting nonetheless. I don't have any others (for now).

There’s something in this album that goes beyond the merely decent (and sometimes excellent, as in "New Gold Dream") pop-rock of this band, which isn't among my favorites. Here, there’s an unusual sophistication in the sound, occasionally with some "Celtic" hints and above all a long series of well-crafted motifs. For me, it's clearly their masterpiece, which perhaps deserved a few more words.

Mediocre solo career of Peter Gabriel... Oh dear! "Invisible Touch" masterpiece by Genesis... Double oh dear! The "amiable" Follow You Follow Me... Triple oh dear! All the albums before Duke "too arrogant and artsy, too intellectual." I have no more "oh dear" left: I'm starting to think that Alice's upside-down world in Wonderland really exists and that MiciaTigre is nothing more than a character in this fairy tale. Happy non-birthday, then (unless it's actually your birthday: in that case, no celebrating). Say hi to the Mad Hatter for me.

Pieraccioni like Masini: here’s another fellow citizen of mine who has done his best to disgrace Florence and Tuscany. Although this seems to be the lesser of his "masterpieces," it is truly bland.

Not by conscious choice, but partly due to laziness and largely because of a tenacious and morbid attachment, bordering on idolatry, towards the great old pianists of the twentieth century—most of whom (alas) I can now only hear on record... because of all this, I’ve missed some of the "phenomena of the moment" who are thriving in concerts these years, among them Ivo Pogorelich. I’ve only heard vague mentions of him, but to hear from a knowledgeable voice that he would be capable of transforming the perfect balance of notes and silence in the sublime Sonata Op. 111 by Beethoven into a farce, and that, even more disturbingly, he would have violated the calm yet still vibrant sentiments of senile Brahms in Intermezzo No. 2 Op. 118 (my favorite of the six pieces in this work)—this puts me a bit on alert. It’s true that a certain degree of showmanship is acceptable in any pianist, but if exhibitionism erases everything else, that’s a problem, and it seems I understand that with this Pogorelich we are indeed dealing with such a case.