Ethelbert Nevin, a retired technical draftsman, resides in a quiet New England backwater. Currently translating a novel about Continental pinsetters, Nevin longs for the days when music didn’t try to please everybody.
Reicha’s 57 dawdle upon an insipid ditty. It is a lot of work for player and audience to make it to the end.
These four high-wattage pieces are invigorating and brilliantly executed.
This may be Chaplin’s finest score, but without the movie, these nearly 80 minutes pass by like a museum exhibition in a foreign land.
A marauding concert requiem easily mistaken for Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 14½.
Ingólfsson stakes a claim near the site that Romitelli quarried. The agile and luscious instrumental textures would have pleased Boulez.