Composers That Are Linked To Your Soul

[(poco) Sforzando]

About Dr.Watson, after years of living in the same house with Holmes and knowing him as he knew him, only a fool could be confused and fail to recognized Holmes, even with a good  disguise.

I would have to disagee. As I read the stories, the intent is to characterize Holmes as a master of disguise, and not to make Watson look like a fool. As I remember, there are about 4-5 stories in which Holmes assumes a disguise that Watson doesn't penetrate, the most striking being The Adventure of the Empty House, where Watson fails to recognize Holmes for the simple and pardonable reason that he has every reason to believe Holmes died three years earlier:

I struck against an elderly, deformed man, who had been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up, I observed the title of one of them, THE ORIGIN OF TREE WORSHIP, and it struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile, who, either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for the accident, but it was evident that these books which I had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.

My observations of No. 427 Park Lane did little to clear up the problem in which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no waterpipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever, I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm.

"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange, croaking voice.

I acknowledged that I was.

"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books."

"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knew who I was?"

"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir. Here's BRITISH BIRDS, and CATULLUS, and THE HOLY WAR—a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?"

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a gray mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.

"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected."

I gripped him by the arms.

"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?"

[Taneyev]

I can accept W.didn't recognized H. supposed dead, but no on the other adventures. W.was useless to recognize faces. Remember The Hound. Holmes asking W.if he did not see anything on the picture in the wall.

[Guido]

I see this really is some kind of personal vendetta.  Too bad.  I had hoped you might have something helpful to share.  Oh well...good luck to you in all your endeavors, sir, and may God bless you.

Amazing! This has to be post of the year already! 

[starrynight]

This is parallel with people who live and die with the fate of their baseball or football teams: I knew a teacher who would come in happy on Monday, if the Cleveland Browns had won on Sunday, and was noticeably depressed when they lost.

He was depressed on Mondays quite a bit!   0:)

It is also parallel with religious fundamentalists: your conversion to their cause verifies the correctness of their belief.  Your failure to convert indicates either doltishness, obstinacy, or the persistence of evil.

Oh, it has been known to surface here at GMG occasionally!   0:)

And yet music isn't a sport, and I don't think people should consider it like that.  It's not really about if one composer beats another in some poll, it's just about appreciating the good points of whatever music we come across. 

And it doesn't really matter if someone else has a preference for some other type of music, most people have a limited time to appreciate all different kinds of music. 

[laredo]

Bach, Beethoven and Mozart. To obvious, lol. And... Orlando Gibbons and W. Byrd.

[Sadko]

I've Russian genes, so I'm particularly attached to Russian composers. Nearly all of them are linked to my soul, but specially PIT, NRK and Borodin.

That sounds interesting. The Internet let me discover so much Russian music (composers and players) I didn't know (or not well) before. And I found that I tend to be emotionally touched so much more often by them. E. g. the opera recordings of what seems to me a "golden era" (musically only), about the 1940's - 60's. Even if I sometimes don't like the voices "technically", I feel so moved an touched that I (often) don't mind.