“But I do believe the people who are the most immortal are the composers. The man on the street, he knows who Beethoven is, he knows who Mozart is. And I’d like to compose.”– Joshua Bell, from a CNN story on his win of the Avery Fisher Prize

April 7th, 2011: Gerald called. Says if I don’t do Tchaik in Berlin this November I can kiss my contract goodbye. Sigh. My cello sonata needs the time. I just got the draft back from Yo-Yo who has reservations about the dead butterflies. But that’s the sound I want!! He’d do it, but I can tell he’d rather not . . . And Manny still can’t get the hang of bowing piano strings. I’ve showed him ten million times, but . . . Anyway so I have to put the entire thing back under the knife. Also heard from Sony. They want to hear “exosphere” before agreeing to record. Fair enough, but you try to find twelve accordion players who are available the same afternoon for a session! Ugh. And Edgar’s in town next week and wants to have dinner at Saint Georges. I guess I can spare the money. He’s a pal, and, who knows? Maybe I can get him to commission that bass and percussion piece I’ve been thinking about . . . Oh and the rehearsal with Hillary? Disaster. Ask her to play double-stop trills, no problem. But write one measly microtone, and forget it: we spent twenty minutes on one single note, and I’m still not sure she has it. At least the fifth annual S21 concert at Carnegie was awesome. Wish those guys would show me some love . . .

6 thoughts on “The best of times, the worst of times”
  1. “the most immortal” ? Hmm . . . seems to me you are either immortal or you are not.

  2. “Queers and Ned Rorem wannabes”? Yeah, and populated by more level-headed, intelligent writers like yourself? Get a life Baca.

  3. It’s bad enough the Washington Post magazine title implies we’re all swine compared to Joshua Bell, they actually make an effort in the article to try and prove it !

  4. And you wonder why things are the way they are? These are the best of times. Magnificent. Eclectic. Perfectly august.
    Yawn…the Empire is frickin’ stale. It’s as if all is controlled by queers and Ned Rorem wannabes.

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