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Rating: I must have already written, on this site, about how I often feel part of a universe where gravitational centers push me to move around orbits that seem unrelated to each other. Like an unaware but never lonely Trojan satellite.
I could write one of those reviews where encyclopedic fervor would lead me to bore you (but for that, I'll refer you to the info where I'll attach the exhaustive wiki page) or I could indulge in "atmospherically intimate" feelings, talking to you about this May with unstable weather, the crisis of Western thought and how the Eastern one doesn't provide the answers we want to hear, of journeys of adolescent and/or senile desperation, or of how "Beethoven is simultaneously Pre-romanticism, Romanticism, and Post-romanticism" (Theodor Adorno).
In this indecision, all I can do is count what there is and what there isn't.
There are three movements (all in Lento) for two bassoons, two contrabassoons, four trombones (these eight only in the first), four horns, four flutes, four clarinets, a piano, a harp, a standard string section, and a solo soprano.
There are the most diverse hermeneutic brutalities of a good part of the political and social life of post-war Europe and beyond, up to the mid-'70s.
There are no harmonic virtuosos of the Classical, nor certain frivolous acrobatics of much contemporary "avant-garde".
There is no attempt at catharsis: just minimal "mournful chants".
In times when the term beautiful has lost all value, I am not ashamed to write that the first movement is of a stunning and unilateral beauty: something that forces you to empty yourself.
Mo.
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