The influence of Horowitz is very strong, here. But the articulation is pure Janis.
It’s time for a renaissance. Now, the way the renaissance’s supposed to start is right here, at this school. There are no other schools like this, believe me—not with these kinds of hip teachers. No, no. So, the renaissance here: you must know about Ands — you must know things that others don’t know.
And you really must, if I am going to consider you my school. Otherwise, I’ll keep looking. I’ve been to about thirty schools, and I’ve tried to get each one to be my school. I want you to be my school.
We’re going to learn real simple chords, without that E next to that F. And that A next to that B-flat in the G-minor seventh, you know. And with that E-flat minor seventh you gotta put that F next to the G-flat — no, no, no. No—oh: you know, somebody’ll come and play those things and people’ll say, “Uh, we don’t allow that in this school.”
Everybody’s supposed to know what Ands. are. A singer—a singer—now, take a singer, for instance. Now, the bass player’s doing 1-2-3-4. They’re doing 1-2-3-4. A singer should know how to come in on the And.
Now, look. Play, uh … play Misty, man. And put that cigarette out. You’re too young to be smoking.
From Charles Rosen’s Piano Notes —
Milton Babbitt had developed a large repertoire of the subtly noncommittal: a good sample was 'You did it again!' The compliment offered to me by another pianist that perhaps gave me the greatest pleasure was one given after a concert in Paris: 'Congratulations on your great success in New York!' (a recital that had been written up with two columns and a picture in Time magazine). The greatest formula of all had been developed by Nadia Boulanger, who, I am told, would come backstage, hold your right hand in both of hers, look you straight in the eye, and say, 'You know what I think!' (Vous savez ce que je pense!)
From The War Against Cliche —
Readers of the present book are asked to keep an eye on the datelines which end these pieces, for they span nearly thirty years. You hope to get more relaxed and confident over time; and you should certainly get (or seem to get) kinder, simply by avoiding the stuff you are unlikely to warm to. Enjoying being insulting is a youthful corruption of power. You lose your taste for it when you realize how hard people try, how much they mind, and how long they remember (Angus Wilson and William Burroughs nursed my animadversions – and no doubt the animadversions of others – to the grave). Admittedly there are some critics who enjoy being insulting well into middle age. I have often wondered why this spectacle seems so undignified. Now I know: it’s mutton dressed as lamb. I am also struck by how hard I sometimes was on writers who (I erroneously felt) were trying to influence me: Roth, Mailer, Ballard.