The Trouble With Titling
I spent a long time trying to come up with a snappy name for this blog. It’s a thing I’m guilty of overthinking (really? You don’t say!) to the point of obscuring content. See previous efforts Not A Fucking Foodie, which was a sort of gonzo/punk attempt at food writing, and The Whispers of Memory, an outlet for the most intentionally awful poetry. (Incidentally, this sort of failed, as with the gift of hindsight, some of the earlier verses actually seem to be quite good).
In the end, I went with something self-descriptive. Music and Works by thmsbsh. Because that’s what this blog is. A diary of music I’m writing (or supposedly).
But I just did a quick search on Google out of interest, to see if I would ever come up (not expectantly, I hasten to add!), and I got the following results.
Huh. Well there’s a trend I’m not sure I like. Why are these the four dudes who have music and works? The Great Master of Western Art Music, Ol’ Ricky Blue Eyes, a man whose neuroses about his place in tradition almost klled him, and the composer of 106 symphonies. Am I part of that? I can’t really compete. A recent archiving of my known recorded music came in at just over an hour long. But I’ll get back to that another time.
And they’re all (Austro)German. What does that say about the classical tradition and European politics? In Darmstadt and Bayreuth as it is in the Eurozone. Sigh.