Today Christians celebrate the Epiphany, when the Wise Men gave their gifts to Jesus. It’s the official close of the Christmas season, and a principal feast of the church. There are a number of carols devoted to the Magi – namely, “We Three Kings” and “The First Nowell.” But I thought we’d listen to something different as we move away from the big holidays.

Musically speaking, Albert Ketèlbey is the English predecessor of Leroy Anderson. His importance is underplayed because his most popular compositions tend to fall into the category of “light” music; however, his sound and style permeate English music, especially of film, to this day. His best-loved works painted exotic pictures for English listeners, and were a way for the average joe and jane to travel to distant lands through their ears.

So, since the Magi came from Persia, here is a delightful little piece, “In a Persian Market.”

For many people, this is a difficult month. The holidays are over, the parties have ended, and all of a sudden, we are left alone with a long, cold winter ahead of us.

People who are immune from these feelings often dislike Franz Schubert‘s great song cycle, Winterreise. To me, it brings great comfort, even validation, that others also struggle during this time of the year; we aren’t alone, and Spring will come again. I play it every year during the winter; and if you also suffer during the Winter, I hope it will bring you some peace, knowing another of the many marvelous and beautiful things that humans have created.

I came as a stranger, I leave as a stranger.
May, with its beautiful flowers, was wonderful.
She and I spoke of love, even of marriage.
But now the world is dead and bare, and the path is covered with snow.

Though not my choice, I must leave now,
and struggle to find my way in the dark.
The shadow of the moon is my only companion,
as I make my way through the cold white fields.

It’s better to leave now on my own accord, rather than be driven out later.
Let the dogs howl at me.
God has made Love fickle – she loves to wander from one to the next.
Good night, my love!

I won’t wake you; continue in your dreams.
You won’t hear a noise from me as I leave.
As I leave, I’ll write “Good Night” on the gate,
So you’ll know I continue to think of you.

… to work.

After a nice long weekend and holiday, it’s going to take a Grande double-espresso Macchiato to get back into gear this morning. I’ll see your coffee and raise you a Mozart Overture to the Marriage of Figaro.

Here’s a little joke I heard about Ricardo Muti:

Muti is lost in the middle of a hot, dry desert. The burning sun is beating down on him, and he is miserable.
“Please, God,” (said in an Italian accent) “… please, just send me two drops of water. That’s all I ask, two drops of water!”
A second later, a small cloud forms above Muti. He holds out his hands in front of him, hoping God has heard his prayer. Two drops of water fall from the cloud and land, one in each of Muti’s palms.
“Thank you God!” Muti yells up to heaven. He claps his hands together, rubs them, then slicks his hair back.