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March 20, 2019
Why do the spangling notes played on a harpsichord remind me of aluminium foil ground between the back teeth, connecting my fillings and sending electric charges into my teeth, setting my nerves jangling, and the metal in my mouth tasting so redolent of blood? My distaste is not with the measured and tempered harmonies, the flights of stringed instruments Bach orchestrates. Of all the instruments, it is the flat-fingered notes of the harpsichord that fumble beneath the melodies, like unsprung petticoats that bounce and jaunt out of step in a shiver of lace and flummery, that brings forth my ire.