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The gauger walked with willing foot,And aye the gauger played the flute;And what should Master Gauger playBut Over the Hills and Far Away.
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The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled.
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The human attitude of which classical music is the expression is always the same; it is always based on the same kind of insight into life and strives for the same kind of victory over blind change. Classical music as gesture signifies knowledge of the tragedy of the human condition, affirmation of human destiny, courage, cheerful serenity.
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The limit case, in our studies, is Bolivia, where the impasse of high prices, low incomes, and ubiquitous piracy shuttered all but one local label in the early 2000s and drove the majors out altogether. The tiny Bolivian legal market, worth only $20 million at its peak, was destroyed. But Bolivian music culture was not. Below the depleted high-end commercial landscape our work do****ents the emergence of a generation of new producers, artists, and commercial practices much of it rooted in indigenous communities and distributed through informal markets. The resulting mix of pirated goods, promotional CDs and low-priced recordings has created, for the first time in that country, a popular market for recorded music. For the vast majority of Bolivians, recorded music has never been so prolific or affordable.
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The main thing is not to lose your identity and to continue working ... You have a quartet. That is such joy! You can forget everything else in the world. I'm playing a lot of chamber music these days. Tomorrow we were going to give the first performance of two trios, but because of the mourning, all concerts have been canceled.
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The man that hath no music in himself,Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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The music in my heart I bore,Long after it was heard no more.
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The music of the spheres.
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The musician who always makes a mistake on the same string, is laughed at.
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The rustle of the leaves in summer's hushWhen wandering breezes touch them, and the sighThat filters through the forest, or the gushThat swells and sinks amid the branches high,—'Tis all the music of the wind, and weLet fancy float on this æolian breath.
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The silent organ loudest chantsThe master's requiem.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers,Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell,Till waked and kindled by the Master's spell;And feeling hearts—touch them but lightly—pourA thousand melodies unheard before!
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The story of your brain on music is the story of an exquisite orchestration of brain regions, involving both the oldest and newest parts of the human brain, and regions as far apart as the cerebellum in the back of the head and the frontal lobes just behind your eyes. It involves a precision choreography... between logical prediction systems and emotional reward systems. ...it reminds us of other music we have heard, and it activates memory traces of emotional times of our lives. Your brain on music is all about... connections.