Jon Gibson and Miriam Seidel's Violet Fire at the Brooklyn Academy of Music
The New York Times, October 20, 2006
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Jon Gibson and Miriam Seidel's Violet Fire at the Brooklyn Academy of Music
The New York Times, October 20, 2006
Posted at 02:02 AM | Permalink
Congratulations to the New York Mets for a thrill ride of a season. Sure, it didn't end up the way we all hoped. Even so, it was one hell of an adventure right up to the very end...well, okay, maybe not Carlos Beltran's final at-bat. But everything before that was a genuine treat. We appreciate what you accomplished -- and we'll still be here for you next season.
Playlist:
Sizu Yantra (a.k.a. Rubén Albarrán) - Bienvenido al Sueño (Universal Latino)
The Four Bags - Live at Barbès (NCM East)
Maria McKee - Acoustic Tour 2006 (Cooking Vinyl)
Atreyu - A Deathgrip on Yesterday (Victory)
Enslaved - Ruun (Candlelight)
Tom Waits - Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers & Bastards (Anti)
Posted at 12:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Riffing on Alex Ross's oft-cited "Night of 10 New Music Concerts" post from last February (as Bruce Hodges did a little more than a week ago in a post titled "My head hurts"), poring over the concert offerings for Saturday, October 28 is enough to make me want to be in at least four places at once, and likely more.
Where I actually will be is at Alice Tully Hall for a "Steve Reich @ 70" concert by the Los Angeles Master Chorale, which includes the New York premiere of Reich's sublime You Are (Variations) plus welcome reprises of Tehellim and Clapping Music. Were it not for that engagement, however, I'd be hard pressed to choose between three major piano events.
At Merkin Concert Hall, Morton Feldman specialist Aki Takahashi marks the composer's 80th birthday with performances of his Piano and For Bunita Marcus. Elsewhere, the dazzling Marilyn Nonken is in action at New York University's Loewe Theatre, offering Pascal Dusapin's Préludes and Joël-François Durand's Le chemin, both local premieres, plus Tristan Murail's Les Travaux et les Jours, a mysterious, 40-minute cycle composed for Nonken (and played with spellbinding style and authority on her 2-CD set of Murail's complete piano music, issued last year on Metier). And in the stylish surrounds of the Allen Room in Jazz at Lincoln Center's Time-Warner compound, composer Stephen Scott and the Bowed Piano Ensemble (pictured) will conjure all manner of unearthly beauty from an unsuspecting, topless grand piano.
As if that weren't bad enough, expand your purview beyond new-music concerts, and there's also the eloquent Baroque violinist John Holloway to contend with on the 28th. His recording of the Bach unaccompanied Sonatas and Partitas is just out on ECM -- a label clearly out to conquer this niche of the market, given the excellence of its modern-instrument set of the same works by Gidon Kremer, issued almost exactly a year ago. Holloway adds to this particular evening's traffic jam by playing the second and third partitas and second sonata at Miller Theatre.
Finally -- as far as I know, anyway -- Jonathan Nott is conducting Bartók's Piano Concerto No. 1 and Ligeti's Lontano at the New York Philharmonic. Peter Serkin is his soloist in the Bartók; the program begins and ends with Beethoven. (That concert, at least, you can also catch on the preceding Thursday night or Friday afternoon.)
Playlist:
Giovanni Martinelli - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Elisabeth Rethberg - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Marco Oppedisano - Electroacoustic Works (CD-R demo)
Héctor Buitrago - Conector (Nacional)
Andra Echeverri - Andrea Echeverri (Nacional)
Aterciopelados - Oye (Nacional)
Modest Mussorgsky - Night on Bald Mountain; Béla Bartók - The Miraculous Mandarin; Igor Stravinsky - Le Sacre du Printemps - Los Angeles Philharmonic/Esa-Pekka Salonen (Deutsche Grammophon)
Tristan Murail - Les Travaux et les Jours - Marilyn Nonken (Metier)
Posted at 06:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
Maxim Vengerov, Alisa Weilerstein and Lilya Zilberstein at Carnegie Hall
The New York Times, October 16, 2006
Playlist:
Ethel - Light (Cantaloupe)
John King - Allsteel; 'Round Sunrise; Lightning Slide - Ethel (Tzadik)
Ludwig van Beethoven - Symphony No. 9 - Helena Juntunen, Katarina Karnéus, Daniel Norman, Neal Davies; Minnesota Orchestra and Chorale/Osmo Vänskä (Bis)
Antonio Vivaldi - Griselda - Marie-Nicole Lemieux, Verónica Cangemi, Simone Kermes, Philippe Jaroussky, Stefano Ferrari, Iestyn Davies; Ensemble Matheus/Jean-Christophe Spinosi (Naïve)
Dmitri Shostakovich - Piano Trio No. 2; Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky - Piano Trio - Martha Argerich, Gidon Kremer and Mischa Maisky (Deutsche Grammophon)
Gustav Holst - The Planets; Marching Song - London Symphony Orchestra/Gustav Holst; Ralph Vaughan Williams - Symphony No. 4 - BBC Symphony Orchestra/Ralph Vaughan Williams (Naxos)
Harrison Birtwistle - Theseus Game - Ensemble Modern/Martyn Brabbins and Pierre-André Valade; Earth Dances - Ensemble Modern Orchestra/Pierre Boulez (Deutsche Grammophon)
John Harbison - North and South: Six Poems of Elizabeth Bishop*; Six American Painters; The Three Wise Men; Book of Hours and Seasons** - Lorraine Hunt Lieberson*, Emily Lodine**, Chicago Chamber Musicians (Naxos)
Peter Schickele - Scherzo from String Quartet No. 2, "In Memoriam"; Paul Moravec - Atmosfera a Villa Aurelia; Vince & Jan: 1945; George Gershwin/Stanley Silverman - Song Arrangements; Daniel Bernard Roumain - Quartet No. 5, "Rosa Parks" - Lark Quartet (Endeavor Classics)
Antonio Cortis - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Maria Ivogün - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Posted at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
The only reason I've never linked to my Time Out New York colleague Hank Shteamer's blog until now is because it shares a not-for-the-workplace name with his excellent math-metal band. My excuse -- and I think it's a valid one, if perhaps slightly highfalutin' -- is that I don't want anything to interfere with my blog's accessibility in schools and libraries. (If, to those who know me personally, I've seemed less salty here than I can be in person, now you know why.)
That said, I feel compelled to link to Hank's space this morning, to draw attention to his detailed and perceptive report on Cecil Taylor's solo hit at Merkin Concert Hall last night. It's been a long time since I've heard Taylor play solo -- since my time of employment at the Knitting Factory in 1997, I'd have to guess, when he played on a double bill with Philip Glass (also solo) during the club's tenth anniversary series in February. Before that, I'd heard a completely epochal solo recital at Alice Tully Hall on Taylor's birthday in 1994 -- then went down to Visiones in Greenwich Village for an Arthur Blythe set, and got to eavesdrop as Stanley Crouch and Ted Panken agreed to disagree about the merits of what had just gone down uptown.
Cecil Taylor solo is one of the world's great things, and Hank does a great job of describing his impressions -- as well as his perception of a slight degree of frailty coming into the pianist's physical apparatus at this point.
Hank is a man of diverse tastes. Scroll down after his Taylor report to catch his impressions of last night's show by Xiu Xiu at the Mercury Lounge. Posts about Cannibal Corpse, Jimmy Lyons, Deerhoof, etc. precede the post in question; if, by now, you're nodding in sympathy, you'll surely make Hank's blog-that-must-not-be-named a regular stop. I'm adding Hank to the blogroll at last -- but under his own name, thank you.
While we're on the topic of Taylor, I note with great enthusiasm that a trio with the pianist, bassist Henry Grimes and drummer Pheeroan ak Laff has just been confirmed at Iridium on October 26 and 27, according to the schedule on Grimes's website. I hope to catch a least a couple of these sets. Maybe I'll see you there. (The trio is also playing on October 21 at the Artists Collective in Hartford, CT.)
Playlist:
Aterciopelados - Oye (Nacional)
Trouble - Psalm 9 and The Skull (Escapi)
Khlyst - Chaos Is My Name (Hydra Head)
Simple Minds - Early Gold (Caroline)
Giuseppe Verdi - Requiem; Quattro pezzi sacri* - Joan Sutherland; Marilyn Horne; Luciano Pavarotti; Martti Talvela; Vienna State Opera Choir and Vienna Philharmonic, Chicago Symphony Chorus and Orchestra*/Georg Solti (Decca)
Posted at 11:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
No, I haven't been resting on any laurels; in fact, I've been plenty busy over the last stretch of nights. I actually got halfway through blogging one particular evening's activities, only to have Time Warner Cable peter out on me. (Happily, I was able to save what I'd written.) But at this distance from most of the events in question, going into great depth seems a bit superfluous. So I've decided to try to get back up to speed with a quick burst of blogging before Dr. LP comes home for fall break Thursday night. To begin with, the aforementioned technologically stymied post -- which was originally to bear the headline, "Stop making sense."
Audience members at the BAM Harvey Theater last Wednesday evening [October 4] might well have thought they'd accidentally wandered into the BAM Rose Cinema by mistake. We were there to see Mikel Rouse's latest stage work, The End of Cinematics, but what greeted us was a blank silver screen, a warning to turn off cell phones, then...movie trailers. Specifically, a clever teaser for the upcoming big-screen Simpsons film. A preview of the animated Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles feature. Another for Lucky You, a gambling flick starring Eric Bana, Robert Duvall and Drew Barrymore. Finally, a full-length trailer for Spider-Man 3, reportedly Sam Raimi's final installment, in which Sandman and Venom are the nemeses; unless my eyes deceived me, Gwen Stacy will also be introduced.
Cool enough for my not especially well-hidden inner comic-book geek; not remotely what one would expect to see when attending a performance billed as an opera. But Rouse has been playing fast and loose with this genre for quite a long time now. Failing Kansas, the first installment in his "opera-vérité" trilogy, was a one-man show based on themes from Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, while Dennis Cleveland, Rouse's best-known work, blurred the line between performance and audience in a powerful rumination on talk-show fame that riffs on The Jerry Springer Show and its ilk.
The End of Cinematics was inspired by a pair of Susan Sontag essays, "The Decay of Cinema" and "A Century of Cinema." The central concept of Rouse's piece is the end of cinema-as-art, the commodification of film as a vehicle exclusively devoted to the Hollywood blockbuster -- thus the trailers. Instead of provocative, sometimes head-scratching celluloid journeys, moviemaking today in Rouse's view is overly devoted to the special effects-laden extravaganza.
Naturally, Rouse's response came in the form of a special effects-laden extravaganza. The End of Cinematics includes a cast of six performers -- three men, including Rouse, dressed in variations of a trenchcoated traveller, three women garbed in checkered coats and pageboy haircuts -- performing between a frontal scrim (on which those initial previews were projected) and a six-panel rear projection wall outlined in neon. Several camera operators and a robotic camera that rolled back and forth across the front of the stage captured and projected the performers on the front scrim. In the rear, film footage shot in Paris played on the top three screens. Similar footage played on the bottom three screens, but with the characters erased by CGI so that those screens served as backdrops to the live performers.
Rouse's score provided a kinetic electropop soundtrack, seductive enough on a surface level yet also deeply sophisticated in its layering of melodic, harmonic and rhythmic strata. As Allan Kozinn reported in his New York Times review, one song in particular, which was repeated twice, evoked the Beatles circa Revolver. (It wasn't the only song to appear twice: Several numbers from the beginning of the piece eventually returned near the conclusion.) Other likely influences included vintage doo-wop and contemporary hip-hop.
I'm still having trouble drawing a bead on precisely how Rouse's visually gorgeous, sonically stimulating show actually furthers his chosen subject matter. For example, the work is completely non-narrative in structure, yet the action is often accompanied not only by subtitles but also by performers accompanying their singing with sign language. A will to communicate is strikingly evident throughout the piece. But precisely what is being communicated was more readily discernable through Rouse's pre-concert interviews and press clips than through the piece itself.
Did this fundamentally wound the production in any way? Not especially. Rouse's music, as always, was instantly appealing. And while the iconography of Rouse's images suggested sexy French cinema, when this was combined with constantly shifting visual perspectives and unexpected jump cuts, what The End of Cinematics evoked most was the schizophrenic look of MTV, as well as '80s rock shows by Talking Heads (which Kozinn noted) and even Laurie Anderson circa Home of the Brave, taken to the next level of sophistication. It was as if -- and I don't mean this to be glib -- Robert Ashley had been provided with the means and tools to mount a production of Rent.
Ultimately, I continue to consider Dennis Cleveland to be a more complete theatrical experience, mainly for its evocation, however sketchy, of character and motive. Failing Kansas remains a more personally involving work as well, both for its subject matter and its one-man engagement with the viewer. But I can't help but think that even these responses were somehow not only anticipated but actually solicited by what Rouse put on stage -- the net effect being the idea of having to think about why there was so little to think about, plotwise, in the piece, somehow underscoring precisely the point Rouse was trying to make about contemporary film, even while couching it in the nostalgic imagery of the art cinema he has loved and lost.
Still, in viewing a DVD of the production several times prior to seeing the show onstage, I wondered whether some viewers might not simply give up trying to make sense of The End of Cinematics, and instead simply sit back and soak in the tricky visual effects and sexy music. When I posed that very question to Rouse in an interview for a TONY feature, he stated that the work of John Cage and Merce Cunningham had completely validated that response, creating an art in which it was simply okay to "check in and check out." Philip Glass and Robert Wilson employed a similar philosophy to different ends in Einstein on the Beach. And, as was the case with that work, The End of Cinematics may seem intentionally superficial on first glance, but each repeated encounter reveals a bit more sophistication in the underlying architecture.
(Speaking of Merce Cunningham, that venerable choreographer's company is performing a work set to a Rouse score during its current run at the Joyce Theater in New York City. I refer to the primary innovation of that piece, as well as its underlying motivation, in the TONY article linked above -- and I was pleasantly surprised to see that John Rockwell quoted from that article in his New York Times review of the opening night performance.)
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On Thursday and Saturday nights, I heard the Cleveland Orchestra at Carnegie Hall, and covered those concerts here. Between those two performances, Frank Oteri and I went to the Nokia Theatre Times Square, a former movie palace converted into a spacious concert hall, for the Porcupine Tree show on Friday night. Admittedly, we were really there for the opening act: ProjeKct Six, a.k.a. Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew of former and future King Crimson renown. This was effectively ProjeKct Two Minus One -- but while I admit that I missed the low end supplied by former bassist Trey Gunn, there's no question that Fripp is playing more full-blown lead guitar in this particular configuration than he has in years, and likely decades. His soaring solos seemed to reference Crimsons past, while still pointing the way to a potential future; Belew, a serviceable rather than prodigious drummer (which was this accomplished guitarist's sole role during the set), maintained a supportive beat and triggered rudimentary bass lines with his electronic kit. It was an egghead jam session between two old friends, and it was deeply satisfying.
Porcupine Tree, one of the more consistently impressive neo-prog bands, played two sets; the first, devoted to music from a forthcoming album, earned mixed marks. It was impressive to hear the band tackling intricate metrical contortions seemingly inspired by Meshuggah. But overall, the new songs sounded samey -- even the sole lengthy "epic" number -- and it was a bit too much to catch lyrics referring to popping pills in at least three separate cuts, even if it's a fair bet that singer-songwriter Steven Wilson was probably contrasting therapeutical and recreational usage. Perhaps I'll feel differently when the finished album arrives in spring. The second set, which Frank and I skipped, was devoted to older material; the next afternoon, in a Long Island City pharmacy, I heard a woman's voice from a cell phone in walkie-talkie mode, held by a young man wearing a Tool T-shirt, proclaiming that the show was "awesome."
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On Monday night, I was back in Carnegie Hall for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. James Levine boldly continues to link works by Beethoven and Schoenberg; Monday night's concert featured a broadly Romantic take on the latter's Verklärte Nacht and a vivid yet occasionally congested performance of his Piano Concerto with Daniel Barenboim at the keyboard. It was the concerto I was there to encounter for the first time live, and Barenboim handled it handsomely, although Uchida and Brendel have had rather more to say about the piece on record. As Kozinn mentioned in his Times review, Levine did indeed seem to be micromanaging orchestral balance as an end in itself at times. Still, there was a lot of satisfaction to be drawn from the concluding work, Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4, in which Barenboim was every bit as fastidious as the conductor, yet something of the composer's brusque heroism still shone through.
Playlist:
Mattia Battistini - Prima Voce (Nimbus)
Licia Albanese - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Badi Assad - Wonderland (eDGe)
Richard Schubert - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Various Artists - Covent Garden 1904-1939 (Nimbus)
Ezio Pinza - Lebendige Vergangenheit II (Preiser)
Various Artists - The Record of Singing, Vol. Four (EMI Classics)
Renée Fleming - Homage: The Age of the Diva (Decca)
Bob Dylan - Infidels (Columbia)
Posted at 02:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
The Cleveland Orchestra at Carnegie Hall
The New York Times, October 9, 2006
Posted at 11:21 AM | Permalink
This afternoon, I received a most unexpected phone call from a friendly representative of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP), who called to tell me that I'd won this year's Deems Taylor Internet Award for my nocturnal ruminations here at Night After Night.
According to the organization's website, "The ASCAP-Deems Taylor Award program recognizes books, articles, liner notes, broadcasts and websites on the subject of music selected for their excellence. The Awards were established in 1967 to honor the memory of composer/critic/commentator Deems Taylor who died in 1966 after a distinguished career that included six years as President of ASCAP." As winner of the Internet Award, I'm in some seriously heavy company: last year's winner was the invaluable Sequenza 21, and previous honorees include Kyle Gann's PostClassic Radio, the All Music Guide, MusicalAmerica.com, Kalvos and Damian's New Music Bazaar, William Duckworth's Cathedral Project and the very first winner in this particular caption, NewMusicBox.
To say that I was surprised is something of a gi-normous understatement. As I stated in my very first post not quite a full year ago, I launched Night After Night as a means of reporting on the countless artists who enrich my life on a daily basis, and in so doing to repay a debt for their efforts. Criticism unquestionably comes into it, but always with a mind to provide an accurate account of honest work played out on the public stage -- a daunting prospect on that end, and thereby on this end as well.
While obviously I have a deep commitment to the traditional print media -- not least the two major outlets for which I write regularly -- I've also found it liberating to easily slip from one musical genre to another in virtual print here, the way I've always done on my home stereo and portable devices. I've always taken that flexibility for granted since it's just who and what I am, and I never really stopped much to ponder the implications.
But just recently, I happened upon a blog entry of which I was the subject in part, and it gave me pause. To start with, for me to be half this blogger's age would now require him to be 80 years old, which I don't believe to be the case. And clearly Mr. Portico is mistaken to claim that my listening consists entirely of the new. One look at tonight's playlist or several other recent entries -- all composed under the influence of my current reading, J.B. Steane's Voices, Singers and Critics -- puts paid to that notion. But there was a line in the post that gave me serious pause, mainly because it gave voice to one of my major insecurities: "It's a much bolder taste, but it's also, I think, somewhat less reflective."
During the years that I've been active in classical music journalism and especially criticism, I've often been stricken with an envy of peers whose grasp of the canon is deeper than mine. Many are the times that I've felt an encyclopedic grasp of all things King Crimson, a nearly complete collection of Art Ensemble of Chicago recordings and a working knowledge of the differences between Swedish death metal and Norwegian black metal might not be traits as desirable as a comprehensive familiarity with the complete Bach cantatas, Haydn string quartets or Donizetti operas in my line of work. What gives me the courage to continue raising my voice in public is the conviction that I'm capable, given proper preparation, of perceiving what there is to be perceived and feeling what there is to be felt in any music out there -- and so is anyone else who cares to invest in that same preparation.
What compels me to do so is the notion that the classical canon is not, and never has been, finite and limitable. As Steve Reich reminded me in a recent interview, numerous composers felt the urge to adapt the simple Renaissance song "L'homme armé" -- and continue to do so, though now mostly to anachronistic effect, as in the cases of both Peter Maxwell Davies and Karl Jenkins. George Gershwin dealt with the influence of jazz; so, in their own ways, did Ernst Krenek and Ervin Schulhoff, and so do Dave Heath and Mark-Anthony Turnage now. When Christopher Rouse pays homage to John Bonham, it's as genuine a response as when Johannes Brahms tackled Hungarian folk music: where Béla Bartók's more explicit efforts attempted to catalog and analyze a popular idiom, Brahms and Rouse, one could argue, were simply reacting to what was useful, or what they simply liked.
Classical music doesn't exist in a vacuum today, and never has. Therefore, discussing the music that is being composed now also means dealing with what today's composers grew up with, as well as what they are currently consuming and transfiguring. Genuinely considering John Zorn requires an awareness of Carl Stalling, Ornette Coleman and Napalm Death, not to mention a boatload of extramusical influences. Writing about Corey Dargel means knowing something of Franz Schubert, David Garland and Morrissey, at the very least.
Therefore: If I appear to be implausibly broad in my interests and tastes, it's less because I consider myself fashionably eclectic than that much of the music that interests me most also compels that kind of lateral engagement. And truthfully, it works both ways: Knowing Mozart's music doesn't require me to know Schnittke's, but knowing Schnittke's music enriches my engagement with Mozart's.
Well, holy moley, this didn't turn out to be the simple thank-you note to ASCAP that I'd planned -- and I promise it won't be my podium script on awards day, either. But after spending literally weeks grappling internally with Mr. Portico's charges, today's award call seems to have pushed me to consider and define what I'm actually about, here on this blog and elsewhere.
That readers have found Night After Night enlightening and entertaining is hugely gratifying, as are the feedback and interaction the blog has occasioned. But in all honesty, I never imagined any kind of official recognition for what I'm doing here -- and certainly not an honor of this magnitude. I'm more than grateful; I'm genuinely humbled.
A full report on Mikel Rouse's dazzling yet perplexing The End of Cinematics, viewed tonight and playing at BAM through October 7, is coming tomorrow. But for right now, I'm going to just sit here and enjoy my daze.
Playlist:
Gustav Mahler - Symphony No. 6; Piano Quartet* - Philadelphia Orchestra/Christoph Eschenbach; David Kim, Choong-Jin Chang, Efe Baltacigil, Christoph Eschenbach* (Ondine)
John Corigliano - Chaconne from The Red Violin; George Enescu/Franz Waxman - Romanian Rhapsody No. 1; Franz Waxman - Tristan und Isolde Fantasia*; John Adams - Violin Concerto - Chloë Hanslip, Charles Owen*, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Leonard Slatkin (Naxos)
Elisabeth Rethberg - Prima Voce (Nimbus)
Rosa Ponselle - Prima Voce (Nimbus)
Posted at 03:13 AM | Permalink
Per the newly bi-metropolitan and everly-AbFab opera blog Wellsung, I note that Chalkenteros -- an operaphile well known for his enthusiastic and perceptive commentary at Parterre Box and, of course, Wellsung -- has finally kicked up his own NYC-centric opera blog, Marginalia.
And in so noting, I've also discovered that he and I have a name in common -- both first and last. So, before anyone asks either of us, I am not he, nor he, me.
Chalkenteros, welcome.
Playlist:
John Adams - The Dharma at Big Sur*, My Father Knew Charles Ives - Tracy Silverman*, BBC Symphony Orchestra/John Adams (Nonesuch)
Janet Jackson - 20 Years Old (Virgin)
Ezio Pinza - Lebendige Vergangenheit (Preiser)
Posted at 02:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)
In a fiesty, crabby profile that appears in today's issue of The New York Sun, aggrieved stage director Jonathan Miller says of the Anthony Minghella Madama Butterfly currently onstage at the Metropolitan Opera, "It was like receiving a maple syrup enema."
That's not the worst Dr. Miller has to say in the piece, but it's probably the most lip-smacking sound bite.
Update: Oooooh, snap! Relating to the above, Parterre Box offers the following observation:
"La Cieca predicts that Miller's next career move will be a return to his chosen field of neuropsychology, where he will make history as the first ever self-diagnosed case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder."
Posted at 05:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)