I dream of songs. I dream they fall down through the centuries, from my distant ancestors, and come to me. I dream of lullabies and sea shanties and keening cries and rhythms and stories and backbeats.
Music . . . began with man, primitive man, trying to duplicate Nature’s sounds — winds, birds, animals, water, the crescendo of fire — after which great systems of learning were set up, only to discover that music is limitless.
Life, true life, was something that was stored in music. True life was kept safe in the lines of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin while you went out in the world and met the obligations required of you.
