It's Iowa Caucus Day, which means it's the perfect time for "E," the award-winning Political Commentary Disguised as Fairy Tale where "animated paper cut-outs enact a drama in which a dictator imposes his delusions on his unfortunate subjects." Strikes a bit close to home at times like this, and is pretty much the perfect example of one of my dad's favorite sarcastic sayings, "Never allow reality to interfere with one's opinions."

No, not that Haydn. Not Franz Joseph.

Instead, Michael. His younger brother. And his lovely String Quintets, courtesy of the Salzburger Haydn-Quintett.

Earlier this week, however, this Atlas Obscura piece reminded me that while the "implacable" and the "sincere" and the "out-of-place" bit is true, the pleasure behind it -- the thing that really makes the Joker horrible -- was missing from the character's original exemplar: the horrifying (yet sorrowfully suffering) Gwynplaine, of Victor Hugo's "The Man Who Laughs."

I once spent almost an entire day trying to figure out what music they used in this thing. It was literally driving me crazy. ...which might explain a lot, come to think of it. (The answer is the theme from Randy Edelman's score to Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, aka, the second-best dragon thing Edelman's ever done.) ...and I've said too much now, haven't I?

I'm not a fan of puns. Never have been. (I think my indifference falls right into Jonathan Swift's trap, because I'm lousy at making them. If I were good at them, I'm sure I'd love 'em.) I'm a huge fan of "visual puns," though. So these little gems—courtesy of the Instagram account of one Francois Dourlen—are great fun.

But they don't just borrow. They borrow and then take their borrowed ideas in entirely unexpected, insane directions. Maybe it's really more a matter of definition than of genuine disagreement, but when I see "authentic" and think about applying it to Jarmusch and his work, I want to use the word "original," as well.

The dialogue and acting aren't particularly memorable, but the scope of the visuals and the overall world-building elements are just splendid. The music's evocative (if a trifle loud for my tastes). And it packs a surprising emotional punch, as well.  In other words, it's pretty much a perfect homage to its source material, right?

It's not so much that they change the melodic excellence of the piece as much as they help to emphasize and bring out shades that I have not noticed in the past. Which is exactly why I love Glenn Gould's performances, 1955 and 1981 alike. ("The 55" is a work of reckless and wonderful abandon; "The 81," a more mature performance. Great, both.)

Here, thanks to the good (and endlessly-curious) folks at OpenCulture and the equally good-and-curious folks at Archive.org, is a series of radio dramas based on eight of the 22 short stories from Bradbury's "The Golden Apples of the Sun." The collection's title comes from W. B. Yeats poem, "The Song of Wandering Aengus."

It looks very Miyazakian to me, for some reason. Especially reminiscent of the night sequences in the little town and outside the bathhouse in Spirited Away. I think it's because the image is so busy -- even chaotic -- visually, yet the overall mood and tone are such peaceful ones. A strange (and appealing) dichotomy.

There's something so dreamlike and mesmerizing about it. The music has something to do with that, surely. But the shocking contrast between the darkness and the reddish light, the occasional bursts of snow, and excellent use of slo-mo are probably the most effective bits.

I'm still figuring out how this whole "new website" thing works, but this is where "Summa This, Summa That's" new stomping grounds will be, and what they'll look like. I think. Sort of. At least while I'm figuring things out. 

...while we're speaking of "favourable Receptions," I'd like to focus our attentions on one movement from one suite in particular.  It's the last movement of the Suite No. 5 in E major (HWV 430), it's comprised of an air and five variations, and it's got a great name: "The Harmonious Blacksmith."

...as the words faded from the screen, I heard this — eulogistic, yes, but a eulogy filled with peace, with pride, and with hope. Mr. Horner had penned something as essential to my ability to digest and respond to the film as were the images themselves.

We all instinctively recognize that our responses to a work such as this one say a great deal both about the work itself and about its author. Far less often (but far more instructively, in many cases) do we recognize what our responses to a work say about us. And that might be the most important lesson of all.

"You can download this recording for free...but you can also decide to support Kimiko Ishizaka and pay whatever you like. The recording is licensed with the Creative Commons Zero - public domain - license. Share this music freely with others to promote the love of Bach."