Sat here giggling at the comments about GlassGlassGlassGlassGlass (you know how hard that was to type?). Yet the last act of The Voyage I found hugely moving. I have no idea why. Maybe because the music sounded (trumpet call) NeoRomantic. Because it sounded like Puccini and his two bastard sons Menotti and Barber. Not exACTly, but it was singable, hearable, and I wish the Met would revive it along with Corigliano's Ghosts of Versailles, the best slaptogether of everyone else's work I ever heard.
Puccini? Jello? Let him eat cake. Someone just shipped me a pirate recording of Teresa Stratas in Suor Angelica. THAT's Jello, tears built-in.
Ken
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> Phillip Glass aint Bach or Carter, in case anyone hasn't noticed. I
> speak as one who sat through the whole of Einstein on the Beach, The
> Photographer, and Satyagraha. Does anyone even remember the last two?
> Puccini played through jello.
> >
> > Mark
>
> Puccini played through jello pretty much describes most of Puccini.
> But, more to the point, Lynda and I listened to The Photographer
> just yesterday (for the first time in quite a while) while wending
> our way eastward over I-80. And, hmm . . . we've happily sat
> through Music in 12 Parts--twice. Several years apart.
>
> Hal
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