More Lileks envy, this time inspired by his description of the slow movement of the Gershwin Concerto in F:
It’s the sort of music that used to say “New York” to people in Peoria. It has that “Chorine on the A train at 3 AM” feel – tired of being sophisticated, tired of the pose, tired of living up to its own dreams and expectations. But when the piano comes in it’s like Gershwin himself in a white suit entering an Automat painted by Edward Hopper – he pops the cigar out of his mouth and says why the long faces? This is New York, pal. Let’s go stand on the corner and watch it ramble past. Whaddya say? There’s no other city in America that can inspire these aural evocations – it’s not like anyone listens to Boston’s debut album and thinks I am so walking around Nob Hill right now. San Francisco to me is tied to the “Vertigo” score, but that’s a trick of fiction. Chicago has one song: one. It informs us that State Street is a Great Street, and we go along with the assertion because it rhymes. But all of Gershwin’s work is saturated with New York, and you know it. It’s the love that doesn’t have to say its name….
Read the whole thing here.