Welcome to a blog feature that I have decided to launch today, despite an inexcusable lack of popular demand. I'm calling it Monday Musings, for want of a better title, and I'll be using this space to bore the heck out of you with some of my most intimate, revealing and downright shuddering thoughts on musical topics. Set your automatic reminder devices now.
About a week ago, in the privacy of my living room and seated at my beloved Steinway, I started working my way through the piano sonatas of Mozart -- not the whole sonatas, mind you, just the easier -- I mean slower -- movements.
There was no great forethought to this. The Mozart sonatas book just happened to looking up at me from the periodically re-stocked stack of scores I keep, not very tidily, next to the piano (much to my partner's annoyance, I'm sure).
Anyway, I picked up the book and just decided to start at the beginning, looking for the slow, or at least slower, movements, possibly because I was feeling a bit melancholy (working in journalism these days can leave one quite moody).
Besides, I don't have the technical suavity to handle the faster stuff without frightening the cats. Not that I can guarantee that every note of the slow stuff will be immaculate, either. Like Algernon in "The Importance of Being Earnest," "I don't play accurately. Anyone can play accurately. But I play with wonderful expression."
So there I was, starting with the Andante from K. 279 and then the Adagio from K. 280, and so on (I confess that my Andantes are usually closer to Adagios, but that's just so I can slip in more of that wonderful expression.)
I remember thinking how much ...
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