nix

raistereonotte and the Supertramp. But why do I feel so nostalgic when I think back to that time?

On March 24, 1721, he gifted six "Brandenburg Concertos" to the Margrave of Brandenburg, His Royal Highness Monsignore Christian Ludwig (a Salvini of the time), accompanied by a letter that ended thus:
"In conclusion, Monsignore, I humbly beseech Your Royal Highness to kindly continue to bestow your good graces upon me, and to be assured that nothing is dearer to my heart than to be employed on your behalf and in your most worthy service, I who am with unmatched fervor, Monsignore, Your Royal Highness's humblest and most obedient servant. Johann Sebastian Bach."
As if to say: please, let me work, I have a family to support!
Ludwig, having confirmed that it was neither money nor gold, but mere musical scores written densely, disdainfully had them placed in a forgotten corner of a library, where they remained hidden from humanity for two centuries.
They were rediscovered by chance in the 20th century by a scholar. They were the absolute masterpieces of the Baroque.
Sebastian Bach will be remembered forever. Christian Ludwig, Margrave of Brandenburg, hardly appears in any history book except for the disgraceful act of having concealed the six masterpieces of European Baroque. A man of vulgar power, as men of power often are.
Bellerofonte72 forgives the preamble, which has little to do with the concerto you present, BWV 593. I wanted to add a small note of color to the character of Bach, who was of absolute greatness, so much so that even today his monumental work is studied by musicians and even scientists.
Yours is a most pleasant and interesting piece on a musician I revere and who always moves me, enough to shake me from the dreadful depression in which I find myself. Congratulations and thank you.

a fun page about "the great illusion" that were the Style Council. The one I reviewed thrilled me, Cafè Bleu made me say, at the time, things I'm ashamed of today (the Style Council, Monteverdi and Mozart...), then "our favourite shop" came out and opened my eyes. End of story.
I still think that Peter Gabriel's exit was fatal; Phil Collins' Style Council was no longer the same. On the other hand, I'm not feeling too well today.

I don’t share many of the judgments. In my opinion, Revolver is one of the greatest albums of all time and pop was born within its first 4 seconds.

If a museum were to be organized about the history of the twentieth century, this record would be showcased in a display case under the spotlight of a spotlight. Undoubtedly, it is an important piece of music and cultural history, not to mention all the political and ideological content.
It was one of those records that helped create a character from whom Dylan, within two or three years, angrily distanced himself. The "minstrel" who fights for pacifism and civil rights, a character that Dylan ended up hating. He tore off that persona exactly in 1965, on the stage of the Newport Folk Festival alongside Al Kooper and Mike Bloomfield.
But that's another story.

Tell me about an album as if it were the soundtrack to a page from your adolescence. Describe the emotional relationship with music, the evocative weight of memories that every record carries, for better or for worse. This type of review is generally my favorite, as long as it’s well-written and has the right freshness (even if it tells stories from almost forty years ago). Your pieces fully meet these requirements; they are tender, amusing, and fresh. Moreover, even when you wrote about that little masterpiece called Eden, I noticed a remarkable commonality in the repertoire of our "heart albums." I therefore find your piece decidedly delightful, about an album that I too loved very much when it came out, a hundred years ago. However, I do not share the love for the concert in Central Park, which I have always found excruciatingly heavy. If I had been their producer at the time, I would have arranged the music in a radically different, much more "minimal" way. So, congratulations, reading your pieces is always a pleasure.

The review is lovely and captures the atmosphere of this album on a poetic level. However, it lacks the historical reading, which is also important. These songs narrate the transition between the years of lead and the 80s, which were just beginning to show their first glimmers. The sandbags at the window of the years of lead and Milan that changes the banks, the future Milan Da Bere that would soon start its rumba. The album sits exactly on the cusp between two eras: one atrocious, marked by unheard-of violence, and the other intoxicated with optimism. In the review, this transition is expressed, but only poetically, without mentioning the historical data that influenced such poetry.

Dear Mr. Wolf, I have been away for a while and now I find you still busy with your "mission" of reviewing and highlighting the best blues repertoire, always with the usual expertise.
John Lee Hooker is one of my all-time favorite artists. He is often truly moving. By coincidence, I have been intensely listening to an album of his that I find fantastic, specifically "Hooker'n Heat," recorded in collaboration with Canned Heat.
I would be interested in knowing your opinion about it.
Personally, I find it wonderful, especially the first of the two vinyls, the one recorded solo with just an electric guitar, keeping the rhythm with the beats of his heel.
Anyway, your work is always good. Congratulations.

These cornerstones have truly created beautiful things, sumptuous orchestrations, baroque arrangements, that touch of electronics that is not out of place. Truly cornerstones.
All of this, who knows why, reminds me of that beautiful piece by Daniele Luttazzi where, with icy elegance, he eats shit. Let’s hope they bring him back on TV because he was extraordinary.

He must have been the sound engineer for Pink Floyd in 1970, okay, I won't argue, he did a good job fifty years ago, kudos to him.
But I found his music pure pop junk devoid of any trace of genius even back in the days of Eye In The Sky, early ‘80s. Just imagine now.
This is stuff for the roadside junk bin, alongside the baby bottle of methanol gin, the cherry-flavored condom pack, and the bicolored giant lollipops.
Better a “camogli” from a couple of days ago than a record like this.
Sorry Piero Poleggi, nothing personal, but calling this stuff, which was already old when it was born, “a cornerstone of pop” seems truly excessive to me. And let’s not even talk about the “important and elaborate orchestrations”...
Good pop is a whole different story. I hope to read you on something more interesting.