Back in the days when I had an ear and mind only for tragic, ecstatic, grandiose, perspiring orchestral music, my heroes were those who wrote like mad either in number or in intensity or both: Bruckner, Mahler, Scriabin, Shostakovich, Popov, Schnittke and many other Slavs. And my curiosity naturally extended to Myaskovsky, for his 27 symphonies of course. So I bought a set of his complete orchestral music and began exploring. That was three years ago. Frankly, his music was not that memorable, and I have no memory for normal melodies, so I took notes (in Chinese) while listening. However, my mindset turned away before getting through 1/4 of the set, and I still don't remember any of his music even when reading the notes.
Now the thirst for spiritual catharsis through mental struggle is like a distant memory, and I pay more attention to the artistic side of music. Perhaps it's time to re-explore old-time leftovers in another light. So here it is.
