Great by any name (The 40th, The Great G Minor, The One That Goes Dah-dah-dah, Dah-dah-dah , Dah-dah-dah-dah)
Come back, Queen Sheba.
A man for all four seasons.
It may not be Carnegie Hall in New York City, or Royal Albert Hall in London, or Konzerthaus in Berlin, but for that moment-on that night-it could well have been symphony night at the Vienna State Opera with Mahler himself holding the door and Strauss serving as usher.
Gone for a while, but now Bach at it.
Some modest suggestions to revive moribund symphonies and orchestras.
It had been a wonderful evening and what I needed now to give it the perfect ending was a bit of the old Ludwig van.
Handel with care.
Every prospect pleases, and only men play viols.
Go seek Haydn.
Guitars everywhere you look.
Perfection, except for the name.
Five of one.
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Did you ever see a piano march?
You turn me on, you’re a radio.
Spanish guitars through the ages.
Some people call me Maurice.
A Modest man.
I’ll see you in hell, Pachelbel.
A little night music.
He finished this one.
Hey, Mister Telemann, tell-e-me bananas.
Christmas music a bit out of season.
Ballet music from a leader of lieder.
All the music you can Handel.
An obscure composer, a harp and a flute.
Counterpoint works best when the listener can separate the voices, so why not use real voices?
A musical tribute to one of the world’s great cities.
Bach, simple and unadorned.
Entirely different from last week’s selection, other than being music for boring, soulless, dressed-up white people.
Try, after listening to this, to argue that there is no such thing as objectively great art. You’ll feel quite foolish.