Fort Worth Renaissance

These are some recent things that I found particularly fascinating and relevant/good/hilarious (in that order). The first two articles relate directly to subjects we have been talking about in my Cell Bio class.

- An article about a new anti-cancer drug that is tailored to a particular genetic mutation – perhaps one of the first in a new generation of chemotherapy techniques that are specific to the genotype of the patient.

- An article about a new therapy for children with acute liver failure that exploits both the regeneration of the liver and the foreign-body rejection mechanism of the immune system.

- An article about the effective communication power of subtle touches.

-A song an old and very good friend sent me, which I have listened to about a dozen times already.

-And, an xkcd comic about strip games. It, erm, relates to my statistics class? (Strip-”Magic: The Gathering”…LMAO)

It is snowing today; flurries then actual snowfall, none of which has stuck. It is February 23rd, and I am quite ready for March to arrive. February is such a bleak month; it has none of the charm of December with its holidays, nor the collective sign of relief come January that they are over. November has my birthday, and is only the beginning of winter. By February, I am quite done with this winter business.

I seem to remember reading somewhere that people are more likely to die in the late-winter than the rest of the year. Looking out at the sky today, I’m not surprised. If the cold doesn’t suck your bones dry, the gray doldrums certainly will take a toll on the ol’ soul. Doldrums – that’s what it is. Often that means a period of dull inactivity, but this month my frantic activity has become so regimented that it feels quite dull, despite the fact that I am generally busy from early morning to late at night.

I said to my friend Charles today that I have been experiencing a lot of deja vu recently- probably, I laughed, because I do the same thing every day – or follow the same routine every week. The monotony  of constant excitement,of a planner full of things to do, every day. Work, never ending work, work for every pair of hands…it’s during these middle-times when the cogs of organization run smoothest, and the routine… up, dressed, et, in the car, off to school, stuff stuff stuff, sludge grudge mudge fudge then this then that a little bit more keep on task, back in the car, errands – dog food! The car is out of gas! Wait, I’m forgetting something…, then home, et, undressed, to sleep, and hopefully sharpish because I am tired and I got stuff to do tomorrow….keys, wallet, phone…keys, wallet, phone…and back up, the sky is gray and so am I, socks, shoes, backpack – keys, wallet, phone, planner, recorder, chem notes, bio notes, stats notes, lab book, IR report, cook children’s badge, keys, wallet, phone. And out again, into the cold! Singing loudly in the car, walking up the stairs, into the library, past the turnstile, in, sit down, check email, read, lecture, walk, lecture, walk, lecture…keys, wallet, phone…plug in the earphones, download the lecture, rename the lecture, place into iTunes, get notebook – keys, wallet, phone – listen. Listen. Then up, stretch, and down. Listen. Up, dressed, et, work work work, Hi! How are you, oh not much, there are lines on your forehead, oh yes I was in lab, goggles, you know, better edit this essay now, send an email, get an email, eat some animal crackers, test in a week? Yes, yes…did you get your first unknown yet? No, no, not yet…where is my lab book?back in the car, back home, back to microwaving my dinner, back to my PJs, back to my bath, back to my toothbrush, back to bed, then up, et, dressed, backpack, lunch sack…keys, wallet, phone…

Methinks someone needs a vacation.

Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House, Dallas, February 19 21, 24, 27, March 5 and 7, 2010

Review by Dean Cassella

TDO’s mid-season offering is a delightful production of Don Pasquale, Donizetti’s most perennially favorite foray into opera buffa.  The work offers a relatively light breathing space between the comic but musically heavy Così Fan Tutte and what is sure to be heavy melodrama in Jake Heggie’s Moby Dick in April.

Chronologically speaking, Donizetti is the last of the great maestri in the line of Italian opera composers who worked firmly in the opera buffa tradition (Mozart’s comedies are, by contrast, among the earliest canonized examples).  This genre tends to focus on ridiculous, often scurrilous plots in contemporary settings that are full of stock characters, mistaken identities, etc.  Music wise, they tend toward florid vocal acrobatics which goes by the moniker coloratura singing.

The title character in Don Pasquale is a seventy-year old man who decides he is going to marry and produce heirs, in order to disinherit his nephew, Ernesto.  Ernesto, who is in love with a feisty young widow named Norina, plots with her and Pasquale’s physician, Dr. Malatesta, to convince the Don that she is a perfectly demure virginal bride, only to turn into an obnoxious and demanding spendthrift the moment the Don signs a mock marriage contract.  I’m sure my readers can see where this is all heading. . .  In a way, the role of Norina is really a refashioning of Rosina, the cunning, conniving belle of Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia¸ who also shares with Norina the obstacle of an old man who wishes to marry her for all the wrong reasons.

Donato DiStefano in the Title Role of Don Pasquale

Veteran basso Donato DiStefano takes the title role, and his performance is brilliant.  DiStefano is an absolute master of buffa roles, and has graced the TDO stage twice in recent memory: as Don Magnifico in 2004’s La Cenerentola (Cinderella), and in 2006 as Doctor Bartolo in Il Barbiere di Siviglia. He possesses masterful control over a rich, sonorous voice, and is unsurpassed as an actor.  In one of the earlier of his aria’s he performs a ‘strip tease’, as hilarious as it is ridiculous, as he contemplates the first meeting with his prospective bride.

Adriana Kucerova as the Scheming Young Widow Norina

Don Pasquale is a work that has only four heavy singing roles, and only one for a woman.  This makes the role of Norina doubly demanding.  In all honesty, Slovak soprano Adriana Kucerova,  a first-timer to TDO, is one of the most compelling singers I have seen live.  Her voice is at once delicate and powerful, and resonates with a hypnotic vibrato, over which she has absolute control.  She is also a fabulous comic actress and strikingly beautiful, to boot.  We can only hope that she will be returning to the Metroplex soon.

Indianan baritone Nathan Gunn did a fine job in the role of scheming troublemaker, Dr. Malatesta.  In addition to a solid voice, he acted the role with finesse.  Virginian tenor Norman Shankle was solid as the smitten young nephew, Ernesto.  His voice at times seemed thin, though; in his final duet with Kucerova, his voice was sometimes overpowered by the latter’s.

Guest conductor Stefano Ranzani’s conducting was very precise and lively, and the maestro handled the score throughout with grace.    Direction by TDO veteran Candace Evans was solid and sometimes even brilliant; at times, though, the visual pacing seemed to drag and occasionally one got the impression that the singers should have done something more than simply standing while facing the audience and sing.  This was in contrast to the lively direction she has given to TDO in recent years (e.g. The Merry Widow and Ariadne auf Naxos).

The sets, designed by the long deceased Jean-Pierre Ponnelle, are lovely, and just what one could expect: elegant, multi-storied affairs that adhere closely to the librettist’s intentions.  One can hardly ask for more.

To conclude, the production was a lot of fun.  The plot and music is highly accessible and thus Don Pasquale would be an ideal way to introduce someone to opera.  I attended the premiere with a thirteen year old boy, who loved it.  He was especially impressed with DiStefano’s take on the Don.  And as for his impression of the Winspear Opera House: “What a cool building!!!”

[T]here’s another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

-Kate Winslet as Iris in The Holiday

Before I begin this tirade of bitterness, and before you sigh, as College Girl goes off on another rant about being single, let me tell you that this post is not my idea; it is the editor’s. I begrudgingly said I would do it, but only because 1) I have no other ideas for a post at the moment and 2) the nagging of small children for parents to do things is only surmounted by the nagging of parents for older children to do things.

Many of you are familiar with my earlier post, “Why Girls Put Guys in the Friends Zone.” It is quite popular; you’d be surprised how many people Google that exact term. You might also be familiar with my not-so-positive recollection of the movie He’s Just Not That Into You, which I despised. Call it salt in a wound, call it too close to home, call it the anger of an irate single person, whatever. I hated it. And I will fill the following with as much shaking-of-fist at the heavens and asking-why, as sardonic wit poured into the above-mentioned post. That was cynical; this is acerbic.

So, the issue, quite succinctly, is as the editor posed in “Submit Your Questions for God.” Looking up to the heavens, raised hands, pleading, one says “is it really fair that those we love are free not to care about us in the least?”

Because they can. Apathy. That’s right, worse than hate, the opposite of caring; their eyes, scanning the room, can pass over you like water over wax; all the flurries in your stomach and hopes and interest can go as unnoticed as any single grain of sand lying in amongst billions of others on a beach. Speaking of a beach, those thoughts of the two of you walking down one, flicking that same sand up with your feet and laughing without a care in the world are apparently not going to be fulfilled anytime soon: the person you are watching so keenly has many cares in the world; unfortunately you aren’t one of them.

Of all the cruelties in the world, this is one of the harshest. How, God, how, can we care so much, so ardently, and yet – nothing?

This experience occurs in nearly every chick movie I have ever seen – the archetypal besotted girl, desperately tries to get him to notice her, day after day or year after year. All’s well that ends well, though, as the guy of her dreams sneaks into her life while she is pining for someone else, or the original object of affection has a total change of heart, and, just in time, resolution occurs – “happily ever after.”

But those are movies. Not real life. As much as they create a great diversion, they are a chimera. Furthermore, even if they are based in fact, they aren’t your life. After all, one may have many colleagues who have finally succeeded to find someone to share their days and weeks with; still doesn’t change the fact that your love life as about as interesting and appealing as a wilted cabbage.

So, are we doomed to wander the planet alone – forever? Is there hope? The outcomes of those movies and books and stories from your best friend – could they all elude you? Patience obtains all things, right? I’m sure if we can all live long enough, we can beat the odds; we can beat the total lack of eligible partners, or the total lack of proper communication and the right coincidences conducive to budding relationships. Too bad that, as Inigo says in The Princess Bride, “I hate waiting.”

Being single isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you, though. And, it is one aspect of your life that could take a turn at any moment; who knows who will come around the corner? Be strong, be patient; “after all,” as Scarlett O’Hara said, “tomorrow is another day!”

Don McLean sang, in American Pie,

A long, long time ago…

I can still remember how the music used to make me smile

and I knew, if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

and maybe they’d be happy, for awhile

I won’t put all the lyrics here, though they are definitely worth it. Ah, lost innocence, the end of an age – we all get there, a day when the ideas of childhood are not lost, but put behind, perhaps even buried – like in the song The Long Ride Home:

Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground

I said goodbye to you and I threw my roses down

That song is about burying one’s spouse, but the sentiment is similar: sometimes we lose things while still trying to cling to them, sometimes they fly off on their own, and sometimes one makes the calculated and often bitter decision to leave them behind.

I love the words “a long long time ago, I can still remember.” We all have memories that seem like yesterday, yet a million miles away. What comes to mind when I think of “a long, long time ago?”

Well, lunchtimes around the table in Toronto, eating tomato soup, cheese, and apple slices while my mom read Garrison Keillor’s poems to  us. We had finished much of our schoolwork, likely – a Saxon math lesson, a journal entry, likely some grammar and handwriting. Soon, we would go outside to play – perhaps digging a huge hole that we planned would turn into an underground home, or trotting Playmobil guys around, giving them names like Iguanadon Poster, Mr. and Mrs Rich, Indiana Jones, TTC Man (and family). If it was warm, we might pedal around the yard on our three wheelers, playing a ridiculous game called “street sweepers.” Or, we might play “King” or “Recruit,” both based on the premise of one child being in charge and ordering everyone else around (the former involving appropriation of  various goods, the latter mostly just marching around the yard).

In a while, we would go inside for an hour of reading, then maybe practice our instruments. At 4pm, when the schools were letting out, our little homeschool would similary let out for the day, and I might go out into the neighborhood to see a friend – perhaps the one with the carpenter father and a crazy Jack Rusell named, of course, ‘Jack.’ I might take a trip down to the convenience store, known for its large “Special K” sign. Some weeks, my sister and I would walk down to St. Claire West, get on the streetcar, and go to swimming lessons at the local rec center – once, coming back, I realized my hair was freezing, breaking off if I touched it, and I ran home and sat my head down in front of one of the heater vents for a long time.

There is music, too, a “long long time ago;” songs like American Pie, or the Beatles. Operas, occasionally. The Rolling Stones. Movies, also – we used to watch one a week, Saturday night. Old Japanese Godzilla films were a favorite. We made pizza on Saturdays, too, just like today. Some Saturday mornings we would get on bikes, ride across town to the best bagel shop, and bring home a baker’s dozen for “big breakfast.” Tall glasses of orange juice, scrambled eggs cooked slow by my stepfather. Some Saturdays we would go even farther, taking our bikes on the streetcar to the subway to a bus and out into the country, where we would ride out to the stable. I rode Penny, a impetuous and quite green pony. The house at the stable was the one Anne of Green Gables was filmed at; it was very pretty.

Sundays saw us again on the streetcar to the subway, going downtown to church. There is a picture, somewhere, after a snow of several feet: all of us, in a row, making a path down the street on the way to church. I had a long pink coat in the picture – I have a vague memory of sneaking a guinea pig onto the subway while wearing that coat. I also used to carry one of my pets in a fleece jacket.

Speaking of pets, this was the time when Achilles showed up, a skinny little puppy from a breeder in the suburbs, who grew up with me; I would walk him (not often enough). We took him camping, and even trained him to sit still in a canoe.

These things are gone; I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. But, I still have the music, and the memory. In Gone with the Wind, Ashley says he thought over his favorite memories so many times, they became threadbare – perhaps as we get further away, the images do get blurry. Glossing over the bad parts, and feeling bittersweet as the the visceral feeling of being younger, and knowing nothing of so much we now know; living in a different world, though in the same body?…well, that will always be.

The Dallas Opera: February 12, 14, 18, 20, 26, & 28, 2010

Winspear Opera House

Review by Dean Cassella

This second production in the Dallas Opera’s first season in its new home was just what the doctor ordered, especially after the sumptuous and heavy fare served up with Verdi’s Otello at the season premiere.  Although one could certainly could not label Mozart’s last opera buffa collaboration with librettist Lorenzo da Ponte musically light, it does deliver laughs in some of the most sumptuous and delightful music that Mozart composed.

Originally set in eighteenth-century Naples, the plot centers around a case of deliberate mistaken identity between two pairs of lovers.  Two young men, Ferrando and Guglielmo are in the throes of young love with Fiordiligi and Dorabella.  A cynical old man, Don Alfonso, taunts them that it is impossible for women to remain faithful, should the men leave the scene for a while.  The resulting argument ends with a wager: Ferrando and Guglielmo will pretend to be called off for military duty, only to return in the guise of two Albanians and each actively try to court the other’s belle.

Jeffry Jones as Austrian Emperor Joseph II in the famous 1984 movie "Amadeus."

The opera was commissioned by none other than the Austrian Emperor Joseph II, best known in popular culture from the play/movie Amadeus.

This was Mozart’s third and last collaboration with Lorenzo da Ponte, a Venetian Jew who, as a child, converted to Christianity, took holy orders, and was eventually ran out of town for taking . . .liberties . . .with certain lady friends.  He then led a semi nomadic life, cutting a swath across Europe to London, and eventually settling in New York City as a greengrocer, and as the first professor of Italian at Columbia University (he also established the first Italian opera company in New York).  His collaborations with Mozart occurred early in his wanderings, when he was living in Vienna and trying to make his inroads in the Imperial court as a poet and librettist.  The story of Così was a allegedly based on a real incident that was making the rounds in Vienna at the time.

Last time around, the Winspear Opera House demonstrated marvelous acoustics with a full-sized late Romantic era orchestra.  The current production makes use of a comparatively tiny chamber orchestra, which poses a different set of resonance challenges.  I am delighted to report that the new opera house was able to handle these to remarkable effect.  Graeme Jenkin’s stately phrasing was carried with both a volume and a warmth that I have rarely heard in a full-size opera house.

Così is unusual in that there are only six roles which are very carefully balanced.  Soprano Elza van den Heever and mezzo-soprano Jennifer Holloway, as Fiordiligi and Dorabella respectively, have beautifully matched voices.  Miss van den Heever also displays considerable skills as an actress, and Miss Holloway, who graced the TDO stage last season with her interpretation of the love-sick Cherubino in La Nozze di Figaro, treated us to her wonderfully lilting vibrato.  Italian soprano Nuccia Focile sang a beautiful rendition of Despina, the cynical, deadpan maid who serves as a female counterpart to Don Alfonso, and who often reminds me of Alice Kramden on the Honeymooners.  Her petite stature helped to enrich the comic potential when she dresses up as a quack doctor and a notary during Act II.

The real star of this performance, though was the illustrious bass-baritone Sir Thomas Allen who, after almost 40 years on the boards of the worlds major opera houses, boasts a rich, powerful voice and a magisterial presence whenever he is on stage.  Tenor Brian Anderson as Ferrando, and baritone Michael Todd Simpson also did commendable jobs in their roles.

Robert Perdziola’s sets recast the time to around 1910.  The main set resembles an Egyptian-style casino, or hotel, lends itself to the time period it seeks to evoke.  I generally prefer sticking to the librettist’s original intentions, but the change in question does not seriously interfere with the work’s enjoyment in any way.

All in all, this is a fine production and one definitely worth seeing.

Next up: Donizetti’s Don Pasquale!

My little brother, or rather, one of them, starred in his school’s production of “Sessical: The Musical,” performed this past weekend. It was a great performance – quite professionally done, considering everyone in the cast was a 7th or 8th grader.

One theme evident in Seussical was alienation in one’s world; indeed, one of the songs, sung twice and echoed back to many other time, was “Alone in the Universe” -

I’m alone in the universe.
So alone in the universe.
I’ve found magic but they don’t see it

Horton sings this after being mocked for believing a person is living on the dust speck he found, referring back to the story Horton Hears a Who.

It’ quite poignant, really. Horton had good reason to feel that way; he was being emotionally and physically cut off from his social group (the other creatures in the Jungle Of Nool). But one can feel that way even if they aren’t being publically derided and excluded.

I was considering this idea, being so alone. I believe everyone feels this way sometimes; perhaps some more than others, but I believe it is shared unanimously; after all, how else could it be so common a theme, found in literature, art, and yes, Broadway musicals.(PS: Is this a theme that is universal in human existence or has appeared and increased in the modern era?)

This is quite complicated, I discovered. Humans are super-social beings; we don’t do so well in isolation, and you notice we aggregate in the same places and buildings, tending to cluster together rather then spread apart (which goes against nature as it increases the entropy of the system, but oh well there goes Tonia on a nerdy tangent).

Yet, we are all unique – thanks to random gamete selection, crossing over, and mutation, most of us have different genomes; even twins, who share the same genetic material, express it differently as they interact with their environment. We all look different, have our own thoughts, and our own unique little characteristics. In The Incredibles, the young super-hero child complains that when everyone is “super”, then “no one is.” So, we are all uniform in our unique-ness. Yet we feel alone.

—So, funny story. I began this draft early this morning. Just an hour later, in Cell Bio, our professor explained to us that the genetic differences between people are so small they are statistically negligible. How about that! It boggles my mind. Basically what that means is that a tiny, tiny, fraction of our genetic material dictates differences between us, and those differences are magnified or smoothed over by our relative experiences – and I don’t just mean experiences that you are aware of and become memory. For example, the chemical composition of your surroundings in utero can have a big effect on you later – I believe this fact explains to a certain extent the differences between identical twins.

So, anyways, we are these members of a species who are pretty much identical at a molecular level, yet each rather unique in our feelings and activities, roving around in big packs, and feeling alienated all the while. Phew. There’s some pretty deep psychology and philosophy that goes into that one, which I do not understand (yet)/won’t go into now. Just revel in the facts, without asking why.

Speaking of reveling in the facts, consider, as I said before, that some people feel more “alone” than others – and this doesn’t necessarily mean they are a social outcast or are that different. Hmmm… meaning the first-person experience can be in quite independent of third-person reality.

So, ponder that.

And thus concludes today’s rambling about human nature.

Outside the Winspear

Last Thursday evening, my stepfather serenely asked me “Do you want to see a Mozart opera?” My answer was a very enthusiastic “Yes!” This would not be my first opera; I have seen about half a dozen, mostly performed by the Dallas Opera. Going to the opera is one of my favorite things; it is a bit odd, however, as opera enthusiasm is rare in one my age (well, it’s uncommon overall but trust me, I was one of the youngest members of the audience last night).

So, why do I enjoy the opera? First off, it’s a chance to dress very elegantly (in other words, pull out the fancy dress that has been languishing in the back of the closet since one’s prom/homecoming/graduation night). If that “one” is myself, this is a rare treat, and it’s pretty hard to overdress for this type of venue. One can revel in, as my mother would say, being young and beautiful. This feeling is facilitated even more if one is on a date, but accompanying one’s stepfather as he reviews the show is fine too.

I also happen to enjoy the music very much. The overture is my favorite part, usually; listening to the overture of Die Zauberflote at the Dallas Opera a few years back was one of the finest moments of my life. The singing is exquisite, the plots…well, usually overblown and far too emotional, but oh well.

Another reason is the visual treat that the opera can offer. The Dallas Opera especially has sets and costumes that are like ambrosia for the eyes; “good enough to eat” is a great way of putting it. Seen in an attractive venue such as the new Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House in Dallas complements this very nicely.

Speaking of which, the new Winspear opera house, which opened with its debut opera last fall, is very beautiful. The outside – glowing red panels, huge glass windows, the name blazing above the door, is quite ostentatious; the inside, with a great view of the surrounding cultural district and downtown, is equally compelling. The hall itself has very good acoustics; the curved shape gives one the feeling of being surrounded by the music. It is not as breathtaking as Bass Hall; it goes for more muted tones (after all, it doesn’t have larger-than-life angels with trumpets). My stepfather noted that the inside of the Bass is white, and has a fresco of daytime; the Winspear is dark inside, and has a more night-like ceiling (large curved metal panels above surround the retracting chandeliers; they look like a massive snail-shell and are quite neat). Overall, the experience of the hall is quite nice.

The actual opera I saw, Cosi fan tutte (”All Women are Like That”) was very nice. The singers were excellent, and the relatively small orchestra capable. The plot – two men are sure of the fidelity of their fiances; an older friend challenges this and has them fake “going off to war” and then come back in disguise, switch places, and try to woo each other’s girl – is a “comedy,” but feels less and less so towards the end. The theme appears to be the fickle nature of love, on the side of both genders. One does not leave with overarching faith in the hearts of humanity. However, the aesthetics of the sets and the beauty of the singers voices made up for this in part.

I grew up listening to opera; right now I have La Boheme, composed by Puccini, on; I have been listening to it since I was in pre-school. I suppose the things one grows up with always have special significance; a soft spot, if you will, for each of us. I do suggest the experience of the opera, though, even if one has not always been familiar with it. My personal favorites are The Magic Flute, by Mozart, La Boheme, and Das Reingold, the first part of Wagner’s four-part ring cycle.

Something that came to mind when I was writing the post Songs of 2009 is how sites like YouTube are changing how we get our media, not only videos but songs. I noticed while perusing for music to place in my post that a common theme on YouTube is to make a video that has the lyrics to a song showing along to the music. Nearly every song I looked for showed up in this formay; it’s a very handy way to just get the music without a distracting video or usually the poor sound quality of a live recording, as these ”lyrics” videos usually use a studio version. I also noticed that shortly after writing that post, one of the videos was taken down due to “terms of use violation” – I can only assume that the video was an infringement of copyright and was thus removed.

I do not know much about copyright law; I know that you are not supposed to sell any media you do not own the rights to, and iTunes won’t let you share a bought song with more than a handful of people. I am guessing the “terms of use” violations on YouTube are rampant (I am quite sure that those movies put up in 10 minute chunks are not legit). However, you notice they keep popping up. The nature of the internet, a confluence of anonymity and ease of use, creates a veritable breeding ground for such grey-area activities as taking a song you own (or got off of uTorrent, I suppose, even worse), putting some lyrics on, and hosting it on YouTube. Those who own the rights are out to stop it – but can millions of users be stopped?

I am not talking here of downloading software and such, which are clearly frowned upon and illegal – but even those are impossible to stop; first Napster then Bearshare and Kazaa and now torrenting services – but more, as I said, “grey areas.” Another example is a program I have called Radiotracker. It scans online radio stations for songs you choose, and then downloads them in whatever quality and with whatever fade-in the station used; imperfect but hey, you get a song. I didn’t listen to the station, but is it stealing? What is the future of music rights with the internet? On the one hand, it provides a handy way of selling music through places like Amazon and iTunes.

The grey areas seem to be indicative of the weakening hold the music industry has on the products it makes. Is it possible that someday they will lose what grasp they have, and music will enter its own as a part of the public domain? It hardly is so in theory now, but in practice, well, anytime anyone in my family wants to find a song quickly, a YouTube video is one of the best, fast means of doing so. I doubt this is “another brick in the wall” – as people get more and more used to having music for free, they will be less and less inclined to pay for it.

I am no expert, as I have said. However, that is how it appears to me. What do you think? Will music eventually fail to be a commodity, bought and sold? Should it?