Who earned a funeral fit for a king.
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Because the way I heard it is now a book of the same name and because that book is now a New York Times a seller. You said with great modesty I am using the incredibly valuable space in front of the store you're about to here to invite you to pick up a copy for yourself now. It is tempting to point to the many hundreds of five star reviews that the way I heard it has so far received, but that feels to self congrats, dilatory. So, let's just say: let's just say that the way I heard it makes a heck of a Christmas present, would you can order right now at micro dot, com book? That's my krowd dot com book. Honestly, if you like the podcast you're going to love the book and if you'd like an autographed copy for Christmas, perhaps we still have a few of those left at micro dot com book. Having said that, that's the way I heard it
The melody went round and round. In the masters mind over and over again a jaunty little tune full of life and promise, but a bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump, but about them it was not a tune for a funeral and yet on this sad and dreary day, it was the melody. The master could not seem to shake, even as the strike quartet filled his garden with Requiem. Far more so. Suitable to the occasion. These sir Seventeen notes persisted like a splinter in his mind, but a bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump, but about a bum. The mortars approached him with great simple They spoke gently, we're so sorry for your loss, maestro. We know you loved him dearly such a shame be taken so young? What an x ordinary talent. He was, they meant well, but
words did not assuage the masters grief. Nor did the joy de little tune pulled from thin air by the penniless singer three years before. How could he have known those seventeen notes would lead to such a remarkable collaboration. How could he have known The degree to which he would come to rely upon his talented protegee in moments, the penniless singer would be lowered into the ground and the master knew he'd be forever haunted by the seventeen notes that brought them together, but a bump bump, bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump, but about a bum. The string quartet concluded
Requiem as the master pulled the pollen from his waistcoat and prepared to address those assembled. In truth, he felt a measure of relief. He had done it. He had pulled together a funeral fit for a nobleman. There was music food, a tasteful headstone and most of all, a grave for one that did Norway. Happen in Vienna. In those days underground, space was at a premium and common grey We were not uncommon, even for the wealthy. Thus, the dearly departed were all and obliged to share the same trench with a variety of other corpses, but not today, day. The master had arranged at no small inconvenience, a private plot and a beautiful headstone but tasteful a dignified place of rest for the collapse
greater who inspired him to write like no one ever had. In the first year alone, their partnership had yielded twenty two set. Rick concerts and six original concertos. It was unprecedented, and the master knew it would have never happened without the young singer, who auditioned for him out of the blue. The unlikely muse who inspired him it return to dig deeper, to write more to be as brilliant ass. He could possibly be the master, brushed away tier and thanked out for coming. Then he began to read the poem had prepared for his dead friend and elegy. First singer, who would sing no more. Was still in his prime when he ran Out of time, thus, my sweet little friend came to an end creating a smart deep in my heart.
Truly. The master was a maestro, but It was not a wordsmith, The mourners listened respectfully, however, staring at their shoes. I bet that now he's up on high praising friendship to the sky, which I render without tender for when he his sudden leave, which brought to me a hiding grief. He was not thinking of the man who writes and rhymes as no one can after the poem, the master walked to the piano and played a musical tribute to the dearly departed, then the mourners retired and a few years later two, no one's great surprise, the master. Himself attending another funeral, his own. It too was assigned their prematurely, hastened by a lifetime of booze debauchery, but well attend
by those who admired his talent, a string quartet's played a requiem as the mourners pay there acts? We are so sorry for your loss. They said to his widow. We know that you loved him dearly such a shame to be taken so young. What an extraordinary talent he was. This service was concluded, the mourners retired, a masters by Body was hauled away and dumped into a common grave with half a dozen other cadavers where it was covered with lime and dirt and left for the worms. To this day. The exact whereabouts of his remains remains a mystery. His legacy, however, is easy to find and well worth discovering a legacy that is at base a collection of notes, musical notes, brilliantly arranged into dozens of concertos and can totters
it is in symphonies, operas and wreck whims and serenades notes that will be removed for as long as mankind can appreciate me physical genius notes that do, however, include a few. He did not arrange like the seventeen he first heard on. May twenty seventh seventeen eighty four while shopping in a pet store, but a bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump bump, but about a bum Those were the notes that caught the masters ear and today, two and a half centuries later. You can still hear them. Memorialize in the third movement of his piano concerto number. Seventeen in G a jaunty little tune full of life and promised a tune that was first sung to him by a penniless singer? Who went on to become his trusted collaborator inspiring. His most prolific period, helping
build a musical legacy, unlike any other such was the contribution of a european starling which the master purchased for thirty four crisis, a hefty some for a bird but a small price to pay for a beloved pet, a pet who was honoured by his heart, broken master with a funeral fit for a nobleman, a master whose own funeral was a more modest affair, the master and the maestro and the bona fide bird lover called Mozart. Anyway. That's why I heard.
Transcript generated on 2019-12-30.