From reading most of his other postings, it is fairly clear to me that Mr. Muse loves to flaunt the music (and art) historical knowledge he thinks he has gleaned from program notes, but he really lacks any profound understanding of it. I do not say this simply because his opinions irritate me — although they do — but because so much of what he says here and elsewhere is so profoundly ignorant.

In this review he seems to be taking Stravinsky to task for his ‘abstraction,’ as if that were inherently a bad thing. If Mr. Muse knew anything about Stravinsky’s music and music history in general, he would hear that “Jeux de cartes” is actually one of Stravinsky’s most conventional scores, a throwback, in fact, to the spirit of late 19th century Russian ballet, and, as such, no more abstract than “Swan Lake.” Music *is* essentially abstract (when it is not texted) because it is, at heart, a nonrepresentational language.

As far as I can tell, the only purpose for a Mr. Muse review is for this preening self-important pseudonymous nonentity to show off his cleverness. But he is also very lazy, and it should be remarked what a considerable portion of each of his reviews is simply a rehashing of liner notes, though usually twisted in one way or another to his own curmudgeonly ends. His remarks on “Agon” are a case in point, showing both this trait and further, his fundamental ignorance of the music he is discussing: He states that “in the second Interlude … [Stravinsky] include[s] music of human warmth and intimacy in spite of himself.” Leaving aside for the moment the nauseating condescension at the end of this sentence — what great thing have *you* ever achieved in *your* life, Mr. Muse? — this remark is completely nonsensical in singling out the “second” of the Interludes in this way because it is, in fact, identical to the first one. And then what is this nonsense about “the weakness of the score” being in the “torturous twisting of the Bransle, Galliard, Sarabande and other antique dances out of recognition”? I would venture to say that our Mr. Muse wouldn’t recognize a genuine Bransle (Gai, Simple or de Poitou — and I bet you don’t know what I’m referring to, Mr. Muse!) if one bit him on the ass. And so what if Stravinsky’s takes on these ancient dance forms stray from the exemplars he gleaned from Mersenne? You can’t exactly dance to Bach’s Sarabandes and Gigues either.

Another trait of Mr. Muse’s reviewing style, and a rather pathetic one at that, is his hedging at the very end when he says that this recording will please those who like this sort of thing. It’s all rather like the old Borscht belt joke: one diner at a hotel says “The food here is so terrible!” “Yes,” says another, “and the portions are so small!” Alas, but nothing is smaller than Mr. Muse’s heart.