It is Sunday February 23. 2020. I am lying in bed listening to the
morning news, and just as I write this, it is announced that the
broadcast is now ending, and in comes the smooth, soft tones of jazz
that I tuned in for.
This is not my first phlog entry. I wrote two more this week. I
tried merging them into one file, which created some kind of
recursion, and, well, it is all lost now. Hopefully I will get better
at this.
Yesterday, I listened to a radio interview of the daughter of a famous
pianist. Are you suffering of fascism, someone had asked her.
Beethoven is too banal, they had said, not sufficiently modern. They
all laughed in the studio, Beethoven is incredibly modern, the host
claimed, incredibly modern for his time. And to demonstrate this,
they put on one of Beethoven's light toned funeral marches.
The music stopped, the conversation went on 'til end, until the final
musical piece, and as Enescu's violin started singing into my ears, I
could not but agree with her critics.
