I smell meat and a sharp knife. With every note, there comes a cut: a short one, a robust one, a shallow one, a bold one. In higher tones, it's more piercing. The whole cycle is only seven minutes long.
I smell Vermont-like melancholy. Is the end of winter really spring? Or is there something in-between, something like void and knife? Frazin's music does not give answers (actually there is an inkling of peace at 0'34''). All attempts (like the one at 1'08'') end in hollowness again and again.
Composer: Howard Frazin
Work: Music For The End Of Winter, 5. Music For The End Of Winter
Recording: Kate Boyd