Shedding some light from history – as well as to benefit the ears of listeners with a predilection for Romantic music – gave birth to this fascinating series. With excellent production values and near perfect consistency in performance, the composers in question could very well be reliving the experiences of hearing their works performed in their time committed digitally – an experience which they themselves could not have imagined even in their own lifetimes.

Before you think I’m veering far from the music at hand, here it goes.

While Gramophone’s ever-ubiquitous Jeremey Nicholas was decidedly reserved in his opening address on the memorability of the music; quite unjustly mentioned to be an ‘anti-climax’ after the previous volume of Tchaikovsky’s First by Hough (never thought much of the work to be sure!) He was nevertheless moved by Howard Shelley’s (my perennial favourite British pianist and champion of rare Romantic works) ever-consummate performance and the ‘solid craftsmenship’ of the pieces and goes on to extoll the merits of the pieces.

Taubert and Rosenhain easily join the post-resurrected ranks of contemporaneous pianist-composer Ferdinand Hiller (Volume 45).

While the form of Taubert’s First Concerto in E Major may be more ‘free’ than what one would expect from a classical concerto, it was more likely the result of a conscious decision rather than of compositional weakness. The two works by Taubert have nothing short of grace, and are far from being just enthused pot-pourri vessels of charm. The outer movements owe an overt influence to Mendelssohn’s Op. 25 Concerto in form and orchestration, while the third movement relishes some masculine moments of Brahms with their full-blooded chords (and of Chopin’s filigree pianistic writing, which is never really far away from Taubert’s). The centre movement is delectably Moscehelean in its sensual use of woodwinds to recreate a nocturnal wistfulness.

If the first is more majestic in temperament – the Second in A Major is quite definitely the lyrical of the pair. It owes its inspiration quite overtly to Chopin in its opening arpeggios and falling sixths, while retaining an ‘old school’ aristocratic charm of say Ries or Weber. If the first movement is directly indebted to the Polish master, the subsequent movements betray more influence of Schumann and even Brahms (since the work was written as late as in 1874).

Rosenhain’s Concerto in d minor has a similar expressive vein as Hiller’s First (F minor, Op. 6) – beginning with a quizzical, slightly diabolical and militaristic dotted march-in rhythm (popular with many pianist-composers in the 1830s). The hushed opening led by the bassoons soon gives in to the overwhelming tutti of the orchestral forces. The piano solo repeats the main theme and goes through some attractive pianistic figuration before launching into the development. The lyrical second subject has some of the most luscious melodies and arpeggiated left hand harmonies. The ending passages played by the left hand seem like a direct quote from Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude. I managed to lay my hands on the score – the piano writing is much more playable than it sounds.

Though cited as predictable and conventional for its day (according to Schumann’s critique, which made sense by the 1840s when the work was released, some 10 years after Hiller’s Op. 6 which I had drawn in for comparison), there’s basically no reason not to like this perenially attractive work. It has all the flair of a successful early romantic piano concerto – passionate, romantic, heroic, lyrical, at times wistful but never self-wallowing, replete with virtuosic passages that are easier than it sounds to bring off. Far from empty repetitive clankering, they serve most of the time to create a sense of musical integration for the listener.

The ‘heart’ of the concerto – the Andante – stirs up an evocative ambience that is never too indulgingly melancholic. It’s Chopin’s wistfulness without the Polish element. A chromatic turn and modulation by the piano (with a beckoning clarinet) that rises and falls before the final recapitulation of the theme (announced by the plaintive cellos) throws an evocative shudder of incandescence that looks forward to Rachmaninov. A skittish and gallopy finale wraps up an altogether very wholesome work.

Unlike Jeremy Nicholas, it is usually the third movements that disappoints me in concertos (with the exception of perhaps Rachmaninov’s Third – shouts “Encore!”); for some reason I cannot fully fathom. A possible conjecture I can conjure is that I favour declamation, pathos and lyricism over the irrate bouyancy that so typically pervades the final movements of works great or otherwise.

Rating: 5 / 5

Rating: 5 / 5

I had a mixed reaction to this book. I think the authors offered some interesting and useful information, presented in a clear, easy to understand manner. However, I found myself put off by the style of writing the authors chose. Their switches from technical, medical terminology to slang for female genitals felt awkward, and their attempts at humor often fell flat. I think the authors tried to write in an informal, conversational style. This did not work for me, but I understand it might appeal to a larger audience. I did not find this a book I would choose to keep in my collection, but because it has so much good information, can see that it could be helpful to other readers.
Rating: 2 / 5

We read how-to books on everything else, why not a book on how to have a more enjoyable sex life? After all, our bodies were designed to appreciate such pleasures. Maybe if more of us had access to these kinds of books when we first began relationships, we would be much more successful and happy, in and out of the bedroom.

The authors have written several books and have taught what lies within their books for over twenty years to countless others. They want partners to help each other to get to that special place faster and think of orgasms in a totally different way. I’m game!

The Bodansky’s make it very clear many times that they are not talking about an orgasm for an instant, but rather that orgasms can be reached almost instantly for women and even quicker for men if we take the time to study our endeavor just a bit. Practice makes perfect!

Readers do need to understand that this can be a very clinical book including explicit drawings highlighting intimate body parts. It also contains its share of “…racy terms when doing so seems appropriate.” I didn’t feel like I needed a shower after reading it, but I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the term “crotch sneeze.” You’ll have to read the book.

The bottom line seems to be that we need to focus on what we want, which is something we’ve heard in other parts of our lives. And the authors believe we can be instantly turned on if we allow ourselves to be and then we can achieve the Extended Massive Orgasm, which is so wonderful it is presented in capital letters! They ask the question about whether “…our natural state is to be in orgasm all the time and (whether) it is only when we move our attention…that we do not experience these sensual feelings?”

I learned a lot just by reading the first chapter, but it will be even more fun to try the recommended exercises. There are solo ones and others I can share with my partner. My one complaint is that the Frequently Asked Questions at the end seemed like really bad Penthouse Forum letters that I remember from my youth. But for readers who want to get right to a specific technique there is a useful index and even a bibliography that eager readers can peruse.

I would recommend “Instant Orgasm: Excitement at First Touch!” to anyone who wants to expand their pleasure with or without their partner. Life is too short to miss out on so much fun!

Rating: 5 / 5

Shedding some light from history – as well as to benefit the ears of listeners with a predilection for Romantic music – gave birth to this fascinating series. With excellent production values and near perfect consistency in performance, the composers in question could very well be reliving the experiences of hearing their works performed in their time committed digitally – an experience which they themselves could not have imagined even in their own lifetimes.

Before you think I’m veering far from the music at hand, here it goes.

While Gramophone’s ever-ubiquitous Jeremey Nicholas was decidedly reserved in his opening address on the memorability of the music; quite unjustly mentioned to be an ‘anti-climax’ after the previous volume of Tchaikovsky’s First by Hough (never thought much of the work to be sure!) He was nevertheless moved by Howard Shelley’s (my perennial favourite British pianist and champion of rare Romantic works) ever-consummate performance and the ‘solid craftsmenship’ of the pieces and goes on to extoll the merits of the pieces.

Taubert and Rosenhain easily join the post-resurrected ranks of contemporaneous pianist-composer Ferdinand Hiller (Volume 45).

While the form of Taubert’s First Concerto in E Major may be more ‘free’ than what one would expect from a classical concerto, it was more likely the result of a conscious decision rather than of compositional weakness. The two works by Taubert have nothing short of grace, and are far from being just enthused pot-pourri vessels of charm. The outer movements owe an overt influence to Mendelssohn’s Op. 25 Concerto in form and orchestration, while the third movement relishes some masculine moments of Brahms with their full-blooded chords (and of Chopin’s filigree pianistic writing, which is never really far away from Taubert’s). The centre movement is delectably Moscehelean in its sensual use of woodwinds to recreate a nocturnal wistfulness.

If the first is more majestic in temperament – the Second in A Major is quite definitely the lyrical of the pair. It owes its inspiration quite overtly to Chopin in its opening arpeggios and falling sixths, while retaining an ‘old school’ aristocratic charm of say Ries or Weber. If the first movement is directly indebted to the Polish master, the subsequent movements betray more influence of Schumann and even Brahms (since the work was written as late as in 1874).

Rosenhain’s Concerto in d minor has a similar expressive vein as Hiller’s First (F minor, Op. 6) – beginning with a quizzical, slightly diabolical and militaristic dotted march-in rhythm (popular with many pianist-composers in the 1830s). The hushed opening led by the bassoons soon gives in to the overwhelming tutti of the orchestral forces. The piano solo repeats the main theme and goes through some attractive pianistic figuration before launching into the development. The lyrical second subject has some of the most luscious melodies and arpeggiated left hand harmonies. The ending passages played by the left hand seem like a direct quote from Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude. I managed to lay my hands on the score – the piano writing is much more playable than it sounds.

Though cited as predictable and conventional for its day (according to Schumann’s critique, which made sense by the 1840s when the work was released, some 10 years after Hiller’s Op. 6 which I had drawn in for comparison), there’s basically no reason not to like this perenially attractive work. It has all the flair of a successful early romantic piano concerto – passionate, romantic, heroic, lyrical, at times wistful but never self-wallowing, replete with virtuosic passages that are easier than it sounds to bring off. Far from empty repetitive clankering, they serve most of the time to create a sense of musical integration for the listener.

The ‘heart’ of the concerto – the Andante – stirs up an evocative ambience that is never too indulgingly melancholic. It’s Chopin’s wistfulness without the Polish element. A chromatic turn and modulation by the piano (with a beckoning clarinet) that rises and falls before the final recapitulation of the theme (announced by the plaintive cellos) throws an evocative shudder of incandescence that looks forward to Rachmaninov. A skittish and gallopy finale wraps up an altogether very wholesome work.

Unlike Jeremy Nicholas, it is usually the third movements that disappoints me in concertos (with the exception of perhaps Rachmaninov’s Third – shouts “Encore!”); for some reason I cannot fully fathom. A possible conjecture I can conjure is that I favour declamation, pathos and lyricism over the irrate bouyancy that so typically pervades the final movements of works great or otherwise.

Rating: 5 / 5