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Our music director just quit, I'm the obvious candidate to replace him, and the two woman wardens don't want to consider me because they have a grudge against me for stupid personal reasons, some of which I've posted about before. I play organ every Wednesday for free, I played and directed the liturgy for the Friday evensong for free when we were doing that, I've played for funerals and weddings, and they're really going to pretend that I'm not qualified. They're looking at paying somebody twice as much money as I would take with money that the church doesn't have because they're that petty.

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[bwv572]

How much better were baroque musicians than modern musicians? On the one hand, most baroque music doesn't use the advanced techniques developed in the romantic period, and most string music rarely goes into extended positions: it's all more or less what a modern violinist would be expected to know with only two or three years of study.

On the other hand, they were expected to sight read new compositions on an almost daily basis. They premiered master works with probably only one rehearsal the day of. And they only got one shot at it, as most of them were never performed again. And they almost all played more than one instrument. All woodwind players played every woodwind, all string players played every string instrument, all of them could play the keyboard, all of them could sing, etc.

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[bwv572]

The mandate of heaven couldn't be clearer

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https://wikiwiki.jp/newsvip/

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You don't see the discourse chef meme very much anymore

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Was listening to Telemann's Orpheus, and at various points the language changes from German to Italian to French, something I've also seen him do in Pimpinone.

A reminder that the standards have fallen so much.

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[bwv572]

A priest hooks a huge fish

Helping him reel it in, a sailor says “Whoa, look at the size of that fucker!”.

“Hey, mind your language!” says the priest.

Embarrassed, the sailor thinks quickly and blurts out, “Sorry father, but that’s what this fish is called, it’s a Fucker fish”.

Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church.

“Look at this huge fucker” says the priest, spotting the bishop.

“Language, please! this is God’s house,” replies the bishop.

“No, no that’s what this fish is called, “says the priest.

“Oh,” says the bishop, scratching his chin “I could clean that fucker and we could have it for dinner”.

So the bishop takes the fish, cleans it, and brings it to the mother superior.

“Could you cook this fucker for dinner tonight?” he asks her.

“My, what language!” she exclaims, clearly shocked.

“No, sister that’s what the fish is called - a fucker”, says the bishop.

Satisfied with the explanation, the mother superior says, “Wonderful, I’ll cook that fucker tonight, The Pope is coming for dinner!”

The fish tastes just great and The Pope asks where they got it.

“Well, I caught the fucker!” says the priest.

“And I cleaned the fucker!” says the bishop.

“And I cooked the fucker!” says the mother superior.

The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely glaze, leans back on his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a whiskey and says:“ You know what?, You cunts are alright.”