Piano music sounded from hidden speakers: dense, lush, and demonically complex. <...>
"And the music?" she asked, nodding as if to indicate the shimmering piano scales that freighted the air.
"Ah, yes. That is Alkan, the forgotten musical genius of the nineteenth century. You will never hear a more luxuriant, cerebral, technically challenging artist - never. When his pieces were first played - a rare event, by the way, since few pianists are up to the challenge - people thought them to be diabolically inspired. Even now Alkan's music inspires strange behavior in listeners. Some think they smell smoke while listening; others find themselves trembling or growing faint. This piece is the Grande Sonate, 'Les Quatre Ages.' The Hamelin recording, of course: I've never heard more assured virtuosity or more commanding finger technique." He paused, listening intently a moment. "This fugal passage, for instance: if you count the octave doublings, it has more parts than a pianist has fingers! I know you must appreciate it, Constance, as few do. <...>
"So you can appreciate the intellectual and sensual heft of the music. Just listen to it! And thank God the greatest musical philosopher was a romantic, a decadent - not some smug Mozart with his puerile false cadences and predictable harmonies."
Дыма и страха я не ощущала, но музыка действительно восхитительная.
И я добавлю даже фотографию, которая покажется уродливой всем, кроме меня (не в последнюю очередь благодаря чумовой обработке и композиции).
Но мне так нравятся эти подвядшие розы именно на этой обложке, что я не смогла удержаться, я обязана была их запечатлеть. Здесь нет никаких глубоких идей, символов или чего-то ещё, это просто красота, которая лежит вот уже два дня передо мной на письменном столе.