Glenn Gould, the eccentric pianist par excellence, and the Goldberg Variations , the magnetic keyboard work there. And as I said the narrator hallucinations, lucid, The Typist , there are touched by Gould Goldberg and the rest, so I do not know how the Penguin Guide neglects both the Canadian master recordings, the 1955 and 1981. The latter is what I heard yesterday, once again, but this time with much attention: what music, and in which hands! There are variations, such as 25 (court 26), with that melancholy fatal, was once heard in a movie, which reach deep, and touch that special fiber, the nerve that makes you forget it no longer. Also cuts 14 and 15 are the most emotional, and when he returns, in the final cut, 32, the da capo aria, we are now completely in the mood, and you can not go back: Gould has conquered.
When at night I hear the last concert given by radio from Alicante Music Festival, where it sounds the Ligeti piano concerto by Alberto Rosado, feel the fatal rollover, the thought of death, associated by the fact that since last June Ligeti is no longer with us. And what mind now to touch his music, he no longer listens more. And I know that someday YA NO MORE, and this terrifies me, makes me anxious, I feel the vertigo fatal plunges through me and I one day ..., nothingness, darkness and eternal sleep. Never mind that after I get better that I tell the phone to M., that somehow does not think, because he feels the same anguish that I both fatal but for some magical moments, immortal in some way. And in the encore sounding again molto vivace rhythmic and precise, the Concerto for piano, which is more Nancarrow debtor's account, but no matter, because the Hungarian endorsed all the influences, all the music from around the world. And the night that began with a work of David del Puerto, his Concerto for oboe and ensemble, very well played, demanding and refined music, the night ends with a reminder of things to come. I excite and almost no sleep, well, yes, but with nerves because the next day, ie today, I bring the library and the books will last place, his rest, after so many months stored in boxes carton.
echoes Bach, Mozart goes next to the green box, and you are also in place, and the misery of never being remembered, being an anonymous name among many others, and the cruelty of this world and increasingly tragic hot will be inherited by the fascists who hate both.
Music can not comfort me, nor these books make me laugh and forget, I am a poor mortal, and that everything will continue without me, without any inheritance ...
Too many books for a single person.
