By Nettlers B.
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Los angeles m? sica desconcierta al an? lisis. Ese arte de l. a. presencia, que no muestra ning? n objeto, que no es m? s que una acumulaci? n de mediadores --instrumentos, partituras, int? rpretes, escenarios, medios de comunicaci? n. .. --, parece ser, sin embargo, l. a. encarnaci? n de los angeles inmediatez, l. a. expresi?
This advisor to the piano literature for the one-handed pianist surveys over 2,100 person piano items which come with not just live performance literature yet pedagogical items to boot. Following the advent are 4 chapters cataloguing unique works for the correct hand by myself, unique works for the left hand by myself, song prepared or transcribed for one hand on my own, and concerted works for one hand in live performance with different pianists, tools, or voices.
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- Music Is Your Business: The Musician's FourFront Strategy for Success, 3rd Edition
Additional resources for Harmony 1
Suddenly from the left, enter Homer. He feels his way with a big staff, yet agitatedly, in blind haste. HOMER [stops; in an urgent voice] Is any here? THE OLD WOMAN [strangled] Ay, granny's here. Homer feels his way forward, comes to the couch, touches it, seats himself at one end, as on a throne. HOMER [urgently] I passed them on the way. They said Hellas was here, had borne a son. . THE OLD WOMAN [still kneeling by the other end of the couch, raises her head] Ay, your Hellas bore your heir, 'tis right.
As the music dies away, the dancers slowly divide, parted by a last breeze to reveal the arbour. Utter silence falls. The earth is hushed. For Hellas leans from the couch, holding a baby boy whose feet she lets touch the ground. And the babe cries out. In the same second, the dancers throw their flowers at his feet, lark-song soars up, the air is full of laughing and crying out, and nature stirs again - with happiness. A boy! He walks! The darling! What legs, what arms! A hero how he acts! Homer's son!
Nothing. . THE SHADOW Believe in nothing, and I'll make thee everlasting. I'll turn thee to crystal, and thou'lt outlive all living things, and never change—eternal as the earth. What dost thou say? Else must thou vanish. THE GREEK [plunging blindly about the stage] If I could see! My eyes are dead coals. Darkness, blackness. No form even. Nothing, nothing. If nothing exists, do I? If there's naught to perceive, what's this sweet body's use? If nothing made, then no creator. THE SHADOW If nothing exists, then thou art every thing.