Arnold Schoenberg was a strange man. A mass of odd contradictions and queer promptings lurk in the shadow of his heroic image as Scott-of-the-Antarctic of modern music. His importance and even greatness are on a certain level indisputable, but their precise extent relates far more clearly than is often understood to the dimensions of this shadow, which falls nowhere more strikingly than across his writings.
KeywordsBurning Assure Sonal Poss Hate
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