Which composer are you most like?

[doversoul1]

Scarlatti (Domenico); tucked away in one spot and did what suited him disregard of what was trendy out in the wide world (so it looks to me).

[P. G. Tipps]

Brahms was a boor.

He wasn't 'alf ... wot a plonker ...

[Richard Tarleton]

I forgot to mention - he also snored something shocking - maybe not on this occasion - Helen Henschel, in her memoir When Soft Voices Die, says her father had to share a room with him once....Clara had a lucky escape if you ask me.

[Nick Armstrong]

I forgot to mention - he also snored something shocking - maybe not on this occasion - Helen Henschel, in her memoir When Soft Voices Die, says her father had to share a room with him once....Clara had a lucky escape if you ask me.

At least he didn't write the Études d'exécution transcendante, to a performance of which I was once unwittingly taken (in circumstances where I could not run from the concert hall; and alas it was too noisy and irritating to nod off ) and whose transcendental tedium I have not yet forgotten, much less forgiven.

[Serial_Apologist]

I'd say I'm most like Ravel.

No-one really knows me, I have an 'elusive' personality (or so I've been told); in fact, I don't even know myself.

You're a bit of a conch shell then.

[Jonathan]

At least he didn't write the Études d'exécution transcendante, to a performance of which I was once unwittingly taken (in circumstances where I could not run from the concert hall; and alas it was too noisy and irritating to nod off ) and whose transcendental tedium I have not yet forgotten, much less forgiven.

Each to their own, Caliban.

Personally, I would hope that my piano playing is like Liszt's - it should be after 20 plus years of study. As for his personality, I suspect I do not share his generosity of spirit (see #102).

(appropriate that I should post this immediately after a Conchological comment!)

[ahinton]

The full story on p.229 of Alan Walker's biog, Volume 2. It was in 1853, Brahms was a mere 20, a virtual unknown. He and Reményi, a Hungarian violinist, were on tour, and had been cordially invited to Liszt's house in Weimar. A small group of Liszt's friends was present, a pile of Brahms's unpublished compositions was on the table (which Liszt had evidently looked at). Liszt came in, and said to Brahms, generous as ever, "We are interested in your compositions whenever you are ready and feel inclined to play them". At that, Brahms became very nervous, and neither Reményi nor Liszt could persuade him to the keyboard. Liszt said "Well I shall have to play". He picked up Brahms's manuscript of the Scherzo in E flat major, which according to those present was virtually illegible, and played it perfectly, while keeping up a running commentary on it, to Brahms's evident (according to the eye witnesses) amazement and delight. After further conversation someone asked Liszt to play his own B-minor sonata. Brahms fell asleep during it. Liszt noticed, played to the end, got up, left the room. The story tells us much more about Brahms than it does about Liszt. No, actually, it tells us a lot about both of them.

Brahms proceeded to spend 3 weeks in Weimar, in Liszt's house. Reményi left, abandoning Brahms in Weimar, as he "did not wish to be associated with the hostility that Brahms had already begun to harbour against Liszt and his circle, which he felt was incompatible with the generosity they had enjoyed while staying under Liszt's roof". [Walker, op.cit.]

Brahms was a boor.

E flat minor, I think you'll find (a pedant writes), but thanks for posting this extract!

[Cornet IV]

I forgot to mention - he also snored something shocking - maybe not on this occasion - Helen Henschel, in her memoir When Soft Voices Die, says her father had to share a room with him once....Clara had a lucky escape if you ask me.

She wasn't the only lucky one - Agathe von Seebold also had a narrow squeak. Can you imagine that beard going fifteen rounds with a boiled egg at breakfast?

[Roslynmuse]

She wasn't the only lucky one - Agathe von Seebold also had a narrow squeak. Can you imagine that beard going fifteen rounds with a boiled egg at breakfast?

I'm reminded of:

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!—
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard.

(E Lear)

[Nick Armstrong]