Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Amadeus Hatfield

Take a good look at that randy face. The man in the wig is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who would have turned 250 today if it weren't for his wild and crazy lifestyle. I've always been a fan, but now, when I see how much talent is out there, I say, who cares? He's just another twerp who started his career at the age of 6, sort of like Ricky Skaggs or Chris Thile (of Nickel Creek fame).

When I was 16, I stood outside the home where he was born in Salzburg, tromped all over Vienna in a haze of adoration, and let each note of the truly delicate Requiem trip over and off my tongue like drops of wine I was not yet old enough to taste. He was mad, hauntingly brilliant, and he left us with an almost incomprehensible body of work. Those of us who studied music had to suffer committing ever K number to memory, every second-theme phrase. And it was FUN.

I have a fondness for those days when I was passionately in love with Mozart, Bach, and later Prokofiev, Shostakovich, and ohhhh that Vaughan Williams (never enough for my lovesick widescreen romantic ear). I still stop to hear some of my favorite themes every now and then, but somewhere I turned a corner, and roots music claimed the greatest amount of real estate on my cd shelf. I can't speak for Wolfie, but something tells me Ralphie, with his terrible weakness for an old English tune, would heartily approve.