EMOTIONS
(OR JUST INSTEAD)
There are moments in your life,
sometimes, when people around you suppose you're mentally deranged
while you feel yourself on the top of logic and rationalism. For example,
you turn off the picture on your TV, listening to the music from commercials.
Family shake their heads, call for ambulance, and you just smiling
quietly, waiting for the next masterpiece. Or you're listening to
the CD, of the same composer, and they ask you whether your music
system is alright -- not to mention your head.
You don't concede to answer:
they are surely didn't gain the understanding in music. Instead, you're
fly far away, to trancendental heights of minimalism's gods' pantheon,
to meet Michael Nyman, Philip Glass and Anton Batagov.
Oh, Batagov, magic creator, Ravel lover!
When his fingers are hover above the piano keyboard, making something slowly-exquisite
that is called in the same slowly-exquisite manner, like How Beautiful When
Bass Viols Playing A Melody In High Register With Hissing Flageolets -- it's
difficult not to fall into Nirvana straight away. His music incarnates into movie
soundtracks or political reviews head-pieces, to these music people do kill and
love each other...
Being deprived of images, his
music is self-satisfactory and surprisingly conciliative. It has something
that makes you return to it over and over again: it is organic, it
doesn't interfere with life of fagged and crumpled urbanoid. It is
somehow cozy to kill and to love to this music.
1999-06-20, Sonya SOKOLOVA (MUSIC.RU)
