Let’s just say Saint-Saens beasted my boy Khachaturian and leave it at that, shall we?
And that does it. Sixteen rounds we’ve had. Sixteen winners. I bet they’re feeling pretty proud of themselves. I bit they’re throwing confetti made of bits of discarded sheet music and tossing back the Verdi.
Well, they’d best watch out. IT’S TIME FOR ROUND 2.
And so in this corner, he cracked open the egg containing Prokofiev’s soul!* It’s
And in this corner, he goosed Ravel! It’s
Which do you choose — the innovator or the innovator? Le Sacre du Printemps or Le Mer? The French guy or the guy who liked to hang out in France?
* What do you mean, you don’t get it? Fine. Here.