Serial Killer

From the hallowed school of the postmodern delusion comes Nico Muhly, wunderkind extraordinaire and protegé of Phillip Glass (after listening to Muhly, you'll understand why he needs 'protection') whose newest 'opera' has been universally panned for being to music what a dentist's drill is to a picnic.

I must say that I enjoy listening to Mr. Muhly. It gives me a new-found appreciation for good composers. He provides a valuable service, as long as he doesn't think he is to be found guilty of composition: While Mr. Muhly's crimes are many, musical ability is not to be found among them.

It should be noted that when a recent pair of premieres at the Barbican earned him such very, very bad reviews ( Andrew Clements: "Though Muhly was flavour of the month in New York, the pieces gave no hint of what all the fuss might be about. They were like slow, painful death.") this very mature and intellectual composer whined on his blog"I have never seen 'flavour of the month' spelled in that way and am secretly thrilled to be dismissed in such a fashioun,"; he also refers to "cunty English reviews".

By his sophomoric attempt at humour, It would seem to me that Mr. Muhly has as loose a grasp on the realities of language as he does on music-making.