By The Guardian
How do you decide your favorite album? it sounds as if the answer's: you don't, they pick out you.
Some of the Guardian's most useful writers clarify how they got here to find and love their favorite albums. From Jon Wilde's relocating piece on Louis Armstrong's scorching 5 and sizzling Seven, to Laura Barton's smooth description of Van Morrison's Astral Weeks, there's anything in the following for enthusiasts of all genres and many years. There's even an ode to that vintage selection of chart-topping hits: Now that's what I name track!
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Extra resources for My Favourite Album: Best of The Guardian Blog
1 – see Simeone’s appendix on p. 181 below); a second edition – revised extensively by Václav Sˇteˇpán largely without the composer’s knowledge – was published by Hudební matice (H. M. 704) in 1924 and then reissued with further modiﬁcations by Sˇteˇpán in 1938. Moreover, the edition by Kundera and Burghauser on pp. 89–108 of the Complete Critical Edition of the piano works not only accepts Sˇteˇpán’s changes without question but also corrupts the text further, and Radoslav Kvapil (Prague: Bärenreiter Editio Supraphon, 1993; plate no.
11, 27). The menace of the magistrate (b. 15). An irruption of violence, perhaps death. The ﬁddler’s joy remembered. The ﬁddler is dying (b. 136). The child moans (bb. 128, 136). The peasants suﬀer (b. 129). The child’s plight. The magistrate approaches. Suggestions of former happiness. The peasants’ distress under the magistrate’s oppression. Peasants (violas) falling asleep. The old woman’s sleeping may be intended. Further reference to the child (oboe) – plaintive as before. The appearance of the ﬁddler, now a ghost.
He rubbed his astonished eyes, and again took fright. Neatly around the wall stood rows of horses; Some wore bells on their stirrups and harness, Some shook their heads, some pawed the ground, Raising echoes in the dark hollow passage. Beside the horses again stood a row of men, Swaying like shadows that ﬂicker in the trees, Clothed in stillness, arrayed in a circle, Still plunged in deepest reverie. But at their feet the weapons were gone. In place of huge shields like the moon Shone ploughs, farrows in place of slings, Instead of swords could be seen Scythes, spades, ﬂails, harrows, Hoes and sickles newly forged.