Word: keyboard
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Generation Gap. It filled him, too, with wisdom about youth and old age. "When I was young, I would play Brahms like this"-and the wrinkled hands moved across the keyboard in a caricature of overexpressive stop-and-go phrasing. "The lesson we learn as we get old is that music can speak for itself"-another time through the passage, impeccable, simple and restrained. "Brahms learned this too. See how luxuriant, how extravagant he writes here"-pointing to a page black with notes from the Quartet, written when Brahms was 28-"and how, later on, the single, simple notes...
...avoided overdubbing and other wizardry of the recording studio, stuck to simple scoring (the Prunes, augmented only by cellos, French horns and various keyboard instruments) to make non-studio performances practical. Al ready several churches have bid for it; the Prunes plan to use it on an upcoming campus tour...
Although she is so short (4 ft. 9 in.) that her feet barely reach the pedals, she took command of the keyboard like a man, shuttling her tiny hands furiously over the keys to weave notes into a glowing fabric of colors and sonorities. The climax of her recital was the 50-minute Goyescas, a work she seemed to have in her blood as well as her fingers. Formidably complex (some passages are scored on three staves instead of two), it unfolds in broad, rolling phrases that are punctuated by guitar rhythms and embroidered with intricate arabesques. De Larrocha...
...worth of tickets in advance of its opening. These venture-capitalists have a dismal evening in store for them. The musical concerns itself with a pair of schoolgirls who spend off-hours spying on a concert-stage idol (Don Ameche). When he is not pounding the keyboard, he dallies with suburban and urban matrons. The music is tuneless, the lyrics witless, and the dances could pass for mass hopscotch...
...worth of tickets in advance of its opening. These venture-capitalists have a dismally disenchanting evening in store for them. The musical concerns itself with a pair of schoolgirls who spend off-hours spying on a concert-stage idol (Don Ameche). When he is not pounding the keyboard, he dallies carnally with suburban and urban matrons. The music is tuneless, the lyrics witless, and the dances could pass for mass hopscotch. What less...