Sunday matinée

It was Franz Liszt‘s 200th birthday yesterday. So it is quite appropriate to listen to some of his music today, I think. He was born in Raiding/Burgenland (at the time of his birth Doborán, Hungary, crownland of the old Austrian Empire). History has it, that Mr. Liszt was – apart from being a virtuoso on the piano and a remarkable composer – a womanizer of sorts and a good looking fellow. I think his music is one of the darker, heavier sort. I do like his Love Dream. But most his Les Preludes. Quote Liszt himself about this piece of music: “Was anderes ist unser Leben, als eine Reihenfolge von Präludien zu jenem unbekannten Gesang, dessen erste und feierliche Note der Tod anstimmt …”

Les Preludes, London Festival Orchestra-Alfred Scholz

But also amazing is young Khatia Buniatishvili’s interpretation of Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz.

Khatia Buniatishvili, Franz Liszt, Mephisto waltz

And here two images of the creator, one in younger years, the perfect beau, one as an old man. Not much change in hairstyle, but else… However, it is said, without his later work, there would be no dodecaphonism, no modernism in classical music.


Also funny: last evening, Franz Liszt was called a German composer on television. Yeah, and Beethoven is Austrian.


2 thoughts on “Sunday matinée

  1. “Also funny: last evening, Franz Liszt was called a German composer on television. Yeah, and Beethoven is Austrian.”

    You wanna know tha truth?
    You cant handle the truth.


    does this fall under the same category as all Germans are Nazis & all Vegetarians are mingled in a way that makes them want to exterminate carnivores?

    Ah, Goodwin. You took your sweet time. ^^


    1. You wanna know tha truth?
      You cant handle the truth.

      …Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinburg? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand a post. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to.


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