Two evenings after listening to Faust, I played Rigoletto. This again was a CD remastering of my favorite recording, of 1968, with Cornell MacNeill, Reri Grist and Nicolai Gedda. It had the same effect as before, leaving me so mellow that I hadn’t the necessary indignation to ramble on about the myriad ways in which the world is not sorting itself out as I would like. However . . . .
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