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At the age of 35, Tom Lehrer
famously observed thus: "It is a sobering thought to realize that
when Mozart was my age, he'd been dead for three years." When
we're young we don't recognize genius. When we're older we either
claim it without deserving it, or try to devalue it in others. And if
we're really lucky, we eventually reach a stage where we just
appreciate it when we find it without hating those who have it.
On rare occasion I feel like a member of that last group, especially
when I listen to brilliant music performed brilliantly. Like now,
when I listen to Hélène Grimaud at the piano, calling
forth sounds of such grace and beauty they don't seem real. The music
is mostly new to me, my classical education being limited to
Warner Brothers cartoons. Aside from one little bit from
Piano
Sonata No. 2 in B Flat Minor, Op. 35; every time I hear it, I
think of the accompanying couplet from my childhood:
"Pray for the dead and the dead will pray for you.
Simply because they have nothing else to do..."
Hey, you didn't expect me to stay serious through this entire review,
did you?
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