Tupelo, Mississippi's Paul Thorn has a knack for synthesis. His father was a Pentecostal preacher, so Thorn grew up with gospel, but he noticed that, in his own words, "white people sang gospel like it was country music, and the black people sang it like it was rhythm & blues," and a mix of the two gospel styles – with some gutbucket blues, old-time rock & roll, a sharp pop sense, and a gift for good old storytelling thrown in – pretty aptly describes Thorn's own brand of inspirational roots rock. Like the professional boxer he once was, he drives his music home with patience, skill, and purpose, putting his own restless energy at the heart of things. This set of originals, which follows 2012's What the Hell Is Goin' On?, an album of covers, finds Thorn at his best, and no song here even comes close to being filler. Thorn writes about his native South and its characters with incisiveness, and that old Saturday night/Sunday morning split between the secular and the sacred has always been his favorite theme, the notion that you can mess up, fall from grace, and then still find some kind of personal redemption is what makes Thorn's blend of gospel country rock and R&B sound so naturally joyous.
Une contribution au débat sur « la fin » ou « la crise » de l'art. Une thèse : l'art n'est pas un langage, mais une forme spécifique de communication.
Cet essai examine l'essence de cette communication, et ce qui la différencie de la communication par le langage articulé, autour de trois problèmes distincts : la relation de l'art à la technique, la nature de l'oeuvre, la nature de ce qui est communiqué par l'art et le lien que celui-ci entretient avec les débats esthétiques. …
Nigel Kennedy’s repackaged 1986 recording of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto is an adventure – free, rhapsodic, emphasising the constant flow of song which is the work’s main asset. Perhaps he’s a little over-keen to emphasise what melancholy there is here, nearly bringing the outer movements to a halt with the bitter-sweet dreams of second subjects, but the Canzonetta is a miracle of introspection. All this passes Gil Shaham by. While the young Israeli clearly has a fabulous palette, conjuring a bright, beautiful sheen at the top of the instrument (though unduly spotlit by DG), he rarely uses it discriminatingly enough, and the sense of flexible movement so vital for the Tchaikovsky is missing.