I like Bach–I like his elaborate arrangements and the way he makes the piano (or harpsichord) sing. But I never really thought about how hard these pieces are. Watching Dinnerstein play these–simply watching the amazingness of her fingers–has blown me way. And if I may say, her fingers aren’t long slender graceful things, they look a lot like mine. So she doesn’t seem to have that advantage of an octave and a half reach or anything. I am amazed that her two hands can work so independently. And it sounds beautiful.
She groups them together into three segments and between each segment she talks a little about Bach and about playing these difficult pieces. Her story about learning these as a child and then teaching them to children is really fascinating (and funny).
I have no idea how many Inventions Back wrote, but this set list is: Inventions Nos. 1, 6, 8, then Inventions Nos. 9, 10, and finally Inventions Nos. 12, 13, 14.
Check this out.
[READ: June 3, 2104] “Box Sets”
How can Roddy Doyle, who does funny so well, also do domestic unhappiness with such verisimilitude?
In this brief story, just as Ireland is getting through the worst of the economic depression and Sam and his wife Emer are feeling like they can exhale, Sam is let go from his job. Now he’s been on the dole for three months. And he is miserable. The only good thing is that he has been watching box set seasons of all of the really good TV that everyone’s been talking about. He feels foolish watching it all after the fuss about them has ended, but he’s still glad to watch it. And Emer is great through the whole thing, always cheerful, always trying to make him feel better. Always with a smile. But Sam is getting darker and darker.
Then one night when Emer says they’re going to a friend’s house on Friday, Sam says he’d rather not. He reminds her that at their last get together he was stumped when someone asked him what he did. He just doesn’t want to go out anymore. Emer tries to comfort him but fails. He just gets madder until he throws a coffee mug and it shatters. He takes the dog for a walk down to the seaside to cool off.
While he;s there, he gets hit by a cyclist. It is dusk and he didn’t see it coming. Then suddenly he is knocked to the ground. He doesn’t really know what happened except that he’s in excruciating pain. And the cyclist is hurt too. But Sam is too mad about everything to ask about the guy. He can barely stand but somehow manages to get home (without the dog). He falls through the front door right next to Emer’s suitcase. Emer is shocked at the state of him.
And that’s when the question arises–how badly do you want to get away from somebody if you can leave them in such a state–practically immobile and agonizing over every breath. I wondered if that was the question on Doyle’s mind. I know oftentimes it is suggested that one could never leave someone who is diagnosed with something serious. But what about someone who is physically immobile. How much would you want to get away from them if you could leave them like that. That isn’t the point of the story, I don’t think. But it is what I thought about.
I think Doyle’s slice of domestic unhappiness is really strong–his dialogue is always right on and he conveys so much with so few words.