Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

For those of you keeping score at home, I would note that today is the sesquicentennial of the birth of French composer Claude Debussy, born this day in 1862.  The local classickal station is, as you might imagine, going bananas with afternoons of fauns and seas and moonlight and whatnot.

Ol’ Robbo is not fond of Debussy’s musick.  Indeed, I’d go so far as to say, as I used to as a small lad, “no yikee”.  In part, I don’t like the way he messed about with traditional tone and harmonics in pursuit of mood and coloring in and of itself, in part I don’t like the fact that he opened the floodgates for modern composers to chuck such structures altogether.  (I’ve long argued that musick, more than any other art form, is self-referential.  If you don’t have a firmly understood structure on which to base your musickal ideas, then they’re really just so much noise.)

Mansoor Debussy provoked something of a conflict between Robbo and his piano teacher during his (Robbo’s) misspent yoot.    Mr. Sags (the teacher) was a firm Romantick himself and didn’t much appreciate Robbo’s constant desire to study Baroque and Classickal pieces.  Finally, he insisted that if we were going to do a Bach e minor toccata, then dammit, we were going to do some Debussy, too.

Grudgingly, I gritted my teeth, gave in an agreed to play this one, Debussy’s La Serenade Interrompue:

It was only palatable to me because of its obvious Spanish flair.  Otherwise, it gave me the guts-ache.