Out of the foggy moors and smoky cities of England it came, music that sang of Technicolor landscapes and of love that was tender, contented, and safely married. Every song was almost without flaw, as in a languorous dream, rich and edgeless as whipped cream, and always giving a hint of something a little more respectable than a mere pop tune, as the massed strings soared to the discrete pulsation of a harp or a guitar. And sometimes the music actually was more respectable, as when it was an orchestral arrangement of an operatic aria. This was the music of Annunzio...
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