La presa di Troia:
Un primo atto roboante con il cavallo di Troia, enorme scultura contemporanea, a torreggiare.
Un secondo atto straziante con una Cassandra splendida attrice. 180 more words
This past weekend, I performed Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 alongside the outstanding musicians of the Richmond Symphony Orchestra. I have a special fondness for this work, because it was the first major orchestral piece I performed in my undergraduate days at Minnesota State University-Moorhead. 295 more words
the heat is in too many things now it is more than the tally of lines while waiting for relief it is and then it is some more like it the Dark Man has begun to seep in albeit with a softer entrance and in lesser increments he slithers under and through with the devices he has at his disposal I see him creeping pliantly through the dirty white of the aluminum siding I hear him tink tink tink along on the roof hiding behind the sound of the accordion that Trope will play up there from time to time or at least I think that is what that sound is I see him slip from Glenn’s owl-face when it wrinkles up with trying to understand his difficult homework he watches from the odd angles in the folds of Abuelito’s robe that is as old as his post-stroke distorted face’s smile is wrecked his shadow hides in the shape of the church that is down the road he bounces in the neighbor kid’s low-hanging pants the crow caws in the branches moved from his foraging by his slinking about the yard a young painter across the street painting a mural on the hospital unwittingly paints him into his brush’s strokes that are the color of a Berlioz staccato violin which is to say angel-red that is the color of a barn blocking mountains of clouds he slips from the crow’s sick song he peers out from the fat boy sitting alone in the museum eating his sacked lunch or from the crying child in Sears who is lost or from the unkempt kid in line one who wears one sock that is white and one that is black his dark presence haunts this unending crooked dance his bow string burns his instrument gold frenetic in his mission and from the heat caught even in the shadow of the church he slips a purple hat on and his sinister smile he lights a cigarette leans against the yellow post as he watches as he waits I see him everywhere the Dark Man braces against the pressure of the silence he endures as he patiently leers from the dark I cannot disassemble the anger of his waiting he has been there so many times and in so many ways that if I place the pieces of it off into the light they somehow begin to fit together but not enough I do not think it will never be enough there will always be something to be taken away something left to create a hole in my sight or at least my logic all the insignificant revelations simultaneously connect and obfuscate the pieces that construct the enigmas in which he hides from which he pensively observes there is an absurdity to everything irrational this is how it feels I abandoned a literal interpretation long ago for something more similar to the truth it is how I have been able to stay one step ahead of him in this mercilessly maddening temperature he has all the obvious angles figured out
Example 3. Gabriel Fauré, orch. Henri Rabaud. Dolly Suite, No. 4 Kitty-Valse (Measures 1-16)
Charles Roussin, Orquestra Sinfônica de Minas Gerais
The work for a relatively standard orchestra in this fourth movement shows some interesting options for initiating the triple rhythm. 1,707 more words