Author: Araks Shahinyan Genre: , ,

“Sometimes I succumb to long sentences. This is it: when I – innocently new to all-devouring classical music world and cowardly naked to any independent opinion on it – ardently asked a once acquaintance of mine, a professional musician (still cannot figure out where exactly that professionalism lied in her), to interpret the psychological intention behind the delay in a measure of a Rachmaninoff prelude (I did not know the word “rubato” then), she said: “God, what will you ever understand? If I said [put here abundant professional terminology to terrify any novitiate away to deserts or to open space, depending how easy you are to scare], would you get it? Would that make any sense or difference to you?” Well yes. It would. It always has. And it always will. Classical music is nobody’s property, it does not rightlessly belong to anybody, to those professionals – first of all. It does not belong to everybody either. It belongs to each and every eager heart out there thirsty for the most accessible form of the Truth this world has ever seen and will ever know. It belongs individually. Equally. With nil discrimination.”

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