por Leandro Oliveira
On the page it looked nothing! The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse: bassoons, basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. And then, suddenly, high above it, an oboe. A single note, hanging there, unwavering... until a clarinet took it over: sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey - this was a music I had never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it seemed to me that I was hearing the voice of God.
On the page it looked nothing! The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse: bassoons, basset horns - like a rusty squeezebox. And then, suddenly, high above it, an oboe. A single note, hanging there, unwavering... until a clarinet took it over: sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey - this was a music I had never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it seemed to me that I was hearing the voice of God.
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