Gathered tightly in the pews and galleries of a Dutch church in thrifty eastern Pennsylvania, a group of disciples harkened steadfastly not disciples of steel nor of any god, but of Johann Sebastian Bach, musician immortal. Musingly reminiscent of medieval Leipzic with Bach playing out his enrapturing arias to the misty Gothic arches of some dim cathedral, sadly reminiscent of the early years of sparse recognition, analogously reminiscent of later days, when devotees trekked across long roads to hear their master's playing, painfully reminiscent when modern renditions betrayed the ancient, were...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
