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It was hard not to share n+1's derision, once its victim has been so tendentiously trussed

its utter beauty: the soft equanimity of its articulation, like the voice of justice; the sweet dissonance, welcome as pain

had​ a piano teacher who used to talk about the most familiar musical cadence – in which a piece returns, after wandering and variation, to its original key, the tonic – as ‘going home’. It seemed so easy when music did it: who wouldn’t want to swat away those black accidentals and come back to sun…