Its a wonder to see this magic happen again and again: I find myself spellbound by music. Could words explain the mystery of that? Perhaps. And if I tread carefully and keep alert, I wont miss a simple miracle: the words, committed to paper, suddenly make the prosaic passage of a manuscript come to light. Grow warm, convey the ineffable, and liberate the tender soul of art that dwells in the infinite beyond the cryptic surface of a musical score.
O autorze
Alexander Nayberg was born in the tiny town of Korosten in the then war-ravaged Ukraine in 1945. Both his parents were freshly demobilized. He had got a good education: the Music School in Kiev, Kiev Music College, Moscow Gnesin Academy of Music, and post-graduate studies at the same place, despite having to break the barriers erected by the fiercely antisemitic Ukrainian and–to a lesser degree–Soviet officialdom. In October 1979, finally getting the permission to leave the Soviet Union, he, a couple of month later, immigrated to the United States. He taught for eight years (part-time) at the University of Pittsburgh.
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