Sometimes Glenn Gould leaves me cold, but never, NEVER during the Goldberg Variations. I don’t care which iteration, it’s just always marvelous.

I know that if you play it loudly enough on nice enough speakers you can hear him humming as he plays, and maybe that’s it. He’s always having a good time with Bach.

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My own playing of Bach is more grimly determined than anything else, but one always gets the sense ol’ Johann Sebastian is really pulling for you.

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I bloody well hate playing Mozart. Good thing there’s so much else to attempt.

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(Yes, I’m contemplating going back to the piano. If the Titanic is going down, I might as well.)

You know else you can sense pulling for you while you play? Joplin. He’s just so excited to be there and dragging you along like a kid in a candy store. “Try THIS! And THIS! And THIS THIS THIS!”

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Anyway, ragtime is the Little Prince’s jam, not mine. I like Bach. The Princess likes jazz and swing better.

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Anyway, today I made red sauce and am contemplating going back to the piano, so it’s been a good one. Plus there’s a fog thick enough to qualify as soup out there.

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It’s not a pea-souper or a Jack the Ripper fog, but it’s still nice. Winter has arrived; Chez Saintcrow is cosy and pleased.

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And yes, Bach is always pulling for you, while Mozart is trying to trap, trip, flimflam, and bamboozle. I like stuffy old Johann S. better.

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Ragged Feathers

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