Chick Corea was one of the most advanced thinkers ever to grace the piano, but he rarely spoke in terms of minor-third intervals or the Mixolydian scale. Drop into virtually anything the man said about his art, and it’ll probably hinge on two words: fun and games.

"Trust yourself to say, 'I don't know what I'm going to do next, but I'm just going to do it because it's fun,'" Corea advised in a YouTube clip in 2020 while talking about his old colleague, Miles Davis. That year, when speaking to JazzTimes, he continually circled back to the phrase, "That's not the game I'm playing." "Oh, would you call that music?" he asked in the 2019 documentary Chick Corea: In the Mind of a Master, between virtuosic runs on the keyboard. "I don't know; I don't care what it is. It's just a lot of fun, you know?"

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Corea's fealty to fun made him into a boundless, filterless fount of ideas—great ones. They're all over his boundary-busting 1970s band Return to Forever, his luminous albums with vibraphonist Gary Burton, his Akoustic and Elektric Bands, and beyond. Talk about a batting average: across almost 90 albums, he won 23 GRAMMYs and was nominated fo/r 67. Currently, he's in the running for the 63rd GRAMMY Awards for his trio album Trilogy 2, featuring bassist Christian McBride and drummer Brian Blade.

Sadly, Corea won't find out if he'll add a 24th GRAMMY to his shelf. After a brief battle with recently-diagnosed cancer, the piano titan died Tuesday, Feb. 9, at his home in Tampa Bay, Florida. He was 79. "It is my hope that those who have an inkling to play, write, perform or otherwise, do so," he said in a statement. "If not for yourself, then for the rest of us. It's not only that the world needs more artists; it's also just a lot of fun."

And fun was arguably Corea's entire MO, from his stylistic interplay to his pianistic touch to the way he dealt with his audiences.

Armando Anthony Corea was born in Chelsea, Massachusetts, on June 12, 1941. "Chick" came from "cheeky," his aunt's baby-name for him due to his chubby cheeks. His trumpeter father sat him in front of a piano at four; at eight, he began taking lessons from the Boston concert pianist Salvatore Sullo. After high school, he moved to New York City to study at Columbia and Julliard but soon drifted from academia into the nightclub circuit. Initially steeped in bebop artists like trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and pianists Thelonious Monk and Bud Powell, Corea soon became enamored with music from south of the border.

The music of [the bebop] era was quite demanding. You had to be into it to really grasp it," Chick told All About Jazz in 2020. "Whereas when I heard Latin music, that beat I heard coming out of New York and out of Puerto Rico and out of Cuba—Eddie Palmieri and Machito and these bands—that gave me a whole other emotional outlook to music. I thought, 'Wow, this is uplifting, happy music, and it struck something.'" Corea touched on this sense of exuberance in his work with Latin-adjacent artists, like saxophonist Stan Getz, trumpeter Blue Mitchell and flutist Herbie Mann.

Corea's interest in this sphere also led him to the guitar master Paco de Lucía, a close friend and collaborator for decades; Corea wrote "The Yellow Nimbus" as a duet with him. "When we played together, I thought I would see a yellow cloud around his head, like a circle," he explained in his 2020 live, solo album Plays. ("Paco inspired me in the construction of my own musical world as much as Miles Davis and John Coltrane, or Bartok and Mozart," Corea said six years prior upon de Lucía's death.)

Latin influences also permeated Return to Forever, Corea's enchanting fusion band that always seemed to hover a few inches above the ground. But even though albums like 1972's Return to Forever and 1973's Light as a Feather were commercial successes, this wedding of musical hemispheres wasn't to court crossover success, but chase that ineffable feeling of freedom.

"It's the media that are so interested in categorizing music," he told The New York Times in 1983, a year after "The Yellow Nimbus" came out. "If critics would ask musicians their views about what is happening, you would find that there is always a fusion of sorts taking place. All this means is a continual development—a continual merging of different streams."

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Genre aside, Corea spent his life combing through every mood and format he could think of, from starlit, quasi-ambient duets (1973's Crystal Silence, with Gary Burton, to classically-minded post-bop (1981's Three Quartets, with tenor saxophonist Michael Brecker). The last few years of Corea's life marked an explosion of diversity and prolificity. In 2016, he underwent a six-week stand at New York's Blue Note club with more than 20 different groups. 

Three years later, his Latin interest crescendoed with Antidote, a jubilant collaboration with the eight-piece Spanish Heart Band. "The game I like is where we become a unit," Corea said in In the Mind of a Master, released concurrently with Antidote. "Everyone's giving and taking, and all [are] creating the music."

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No matter which context he was in, Corea's effervescence is evident in his playing itself. His fluid phrasing and jewellike tone, which appeared almost fully-formed with his first two albums, 1968's Tones for Joan's Bones and Now He Sings, Now He Sobs, made even his knottiest material pleasing to the ear. About his way with a Fender Rhodes, "It's almost like his fingers bounce off the keys," WBGO's Nate Chinen told NPR in 2016. "His touch on that instrument is really distinctive. You know it's him within a note or two."

This accessibility and distinctiveness are testaments to Corea's emphasis on communicating to the listener, and he couldn't have done so if the music flew over peoples' heads. This became a primary value to Corea in the mid-'70s, when he converted to Scientology and underwent an auditing system that set him on a lifelong psychospiritual journey.

"A very simple thing happened to me right in the very beginning," Corea told The Village Voice in 1977. "I experience this in live hundreds or thousands of people in front of me—I now have the ability to give across a musical communication with clear intent. I know what I'm doing and who I'm communicating to, and I give the communication across, and I see what happens in front of me." (Corea dedicated myriad albums to Hubbard and remained a highly visible member of the controversial religion until the end of his life.)

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In what would be Corea's final album, Plays, he eschews a superstar's trappings: no backing band, no staid reverence, no canned commentary. "Here I am with my piano," he declares at the top, alone onstage. "The piano's tuned up all nice, but now we have to tune up. Yeah, we." At first, it's an awkward moment. He plays a middle A; the giggling crowd tentatively sings it back to him. One note becomes two; two becomes three, and so on.

But by the time Corea lays into a medley of Mozart's Piano Sonata in F, and George Gershwin's "Something to Watch Over Me," the gag reveals itself to be something much more profound. Suddenly, the barriers vanish. His game opens up to everyone. His fun becomes ours.

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Flamenco is undergoing a sweeping transformation. Propelled not by a single artist, but by a wave of creative talents, a new generation of artists are injecting fresh life into this storied genre. 

Six years after Rosalía's 2018 release, El Mal Querer, catalyzed a wider renaissance in the flamenco world with an approach inspired by the legendary Romani flamenco singer Camarón de la Isla a new wave of artists are rushing in to redefine the landmark Latin sound.  

A new generation of Spanish musicians draw deep inspiration from flamenco's rich traditions while redefining its contemporary form. Rooted in the flamenco traditions cherished by their ancestors, today's artists are innovating this heritage with a new set of sensibilities. Flamenco itself, with its diverse array of styles or palos, offers a unique medium of expression, characterized by distinctive rhythmic patterns, melody and emotional intensity. 

Discover the vibrant future of flamenco through the innovative works of trailblazers like La Plazuela, Queralt Lahoz, Mëstiza, C. Tangana, Maka, and María José Llergo. From Maka's trap-fueled infusions of reggaeton to Lahoz's innovations on traditional guitar-playing techniques, each of these artists, with their unique contemporary take on traditional styles, is reimagining flamenco and captivating audiences around the world. 

La Plazuela

La Plazuela duo Manuel Hidalgo and Luis Abril are both from Albaicín in the Andalusian city of Granada. It's a district infused with rich cultural history, where steep, winding streets are bursting with art and the sounds of flamenco. 

La Plazuela soaks the rhythms of flamenco in a distinctively sunny sound, forgoing the woeful connotations of the genre to explore new, optimistic possibilities. On their new song "Alegrías De La Ragua" the pair teamed up with flamenco singer David de Jacoba and electro producer Texture. The track is an ode to the sugar cane fields of Andalusia, highlighting the region’s agricultural importance and intrinsic relationship with the land — distinctly Granada both in sound and story.

Queralt Lahoz

Born in Barcelona to an Anducian family, Queralt Lahoz was raised on the sounds of flamenco at home where her Granada-born grandmother immersed her in the musical traditions of southern Spain. 

While her soulful, urban style deeply resonates with flamenco, Lahoz has stressed that she is not a purist of the genre and enjoys experimenting with different styles. Stripped back, brutally honest and direct, tracks like "De La Cueva a Los Olivos" is a multifaceted track that opens with rasgueado (percussive guitar technique integral to flamenco) that evolves into a brassy, jazzy chorus, and even includes a rap verse. She cites late flamenco great La Niña de los Peines alongside Wu-Tang Clan among her influences — a testament to her love of musical diversity. 

Mëstiza

Mëstiza envisioned flamenco for the nightclub: The DJ duo Pitty Bernad and Belah were already hot names in the Spanish club scene before they combined forces.  

Pitty hails from the southern region Castilla-La Mancha, and Belah from neighboring Andalucia. The two met in the Madrid DJ scene and shared a love for electronic music steeped in folkloric tradition. They are behind legendary Spanish club night Sacro, an immersive audiovisual experience rooted in ritualistic Spanish folklore. The duo has plans to bring their unique Sacro sound across the globe soon with to-be-announced performances planned for Europe, Asia, and the United States. 

C. Tangana

C. Tangana (full name Antón Álvarez) co-wrote eight songs on former flame Rosalía's El Mal Querer and demonstrates his dexterity and vision in the sounds of flamenco on his 2020 release, El Madrileño. The album explores regional sounds from across Spain and Latin America, employing the finest artists from these genres as collaborators. 

The album's first single, "Tú Me Dejaste De Querer" features flamenco stars Niño de Elche and La Húngara singing in the chorus between Álvarez’s rapped verses. Alvaréz’s tour of the album was based on a typical Spanish sobremesa (post-dinner conversation), with bottles of wine placed on a long table set with tapas, elbow-to-elbow with fellow musicians who clap palmas flamencas, play guitar, and provide backing vocals. El Madrileño earned three Latin GRAMMYs in 2021 and The Tiny Desk performance of the album is among the series’ most-watched concerts. 

Maka

Granada-born Maka has been a pioneer in viewing flamenco through an urban lens. A versatile artist, he is both a skilled rapper and prolific singer/songwriter. In his 2014 release, Pna, Maka combined flamenco singing (canté) over hip-hop beats ("La Dirty Flamenca") and reversed the formula to rap over flamenco rhythms ("Vividor").  

Maka returned to flex his mastery in flamenco in his 2021 album, Detrás de Esta Pinta Hay un Flamenco, which pays homage to the melodic pop-flamenco bands of the 1980s and 1990s with a throwback feel. His latest 2024 single "Amor Ciego'' combines a reggaeton beat with flamenco vocal embellishments, calling back to many of his early reggaeton and trap-fueled releases. 

María José Llergo 

María José Llergo released her debut album Ultrabelleza last October to critical acclaim, sparking an upcoming U.S. tour. As a trained flamenco vocalist, she graduated from the prestigious Escuela Superior de Música de Cataluña (Rosalía is a fellow alum.)

Llergo grew up in the small town of Pozoblanco, on the outskirts of the Andalusian city, Cordoba. Her grandfather, a vegetable farmer, taught Llergo flamenco from a young age, singing with her as he worked the land. 

Llergo’s music combines flamenco with the sounds of nature, reimagined synthetically through electronic experimentation that results in lush, immersive soundscapes. "I turn like the moon in the sky... If I stop moving, I’ll die", she sings in Spanish on the track "Rueda, Rueda," contemplating the rhythm of life. Her lyrics are deeply poetic and metaphorical, tying place to emotion, and nature to feeling. 

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"Oh no, I’m going to start crying again," says La Santa Cecilia singer La Marisoul during a touching scene in Alma Bohemia, the documentary directed by Carlos Pérez honoring the Los Angeles band’s 15 year anniversary. 

As it turns out, there are many reasons to be emotional about this film — and the very existence of La Santa Cecilia in the contemporary Latin music landscape. Fittingly, Alma Bohemia was received enthusiastically by the capacity audience during an exclusive screening on April 3 at the GRAMMY Museum’s Clive Davis Theater in Los Angeles. 

Formed by La Marisoul (real name is Marisol Hernández), bassist Alex Bendaña, accordionist and requinto player José "Pepe" Carlos and percussionist Miguel "Oso" Ramírez, La Santa Cecilia was for years one of the best kept secrets in the Los Angeles music scene.  As close friends and musicians, they won over audiences with an organic, down-to-earth sound and a lovely songbook that draws from traditional formats such as bolero, ranchera and nueva canción.

Alma Bohemia follows the making of La Santa’s 2023 album, Cuatro Copas Bohemia en la Finca Altozano. A celebration of the band’s longevity, the session also functions as a subtle, yet powerful musical experiment. It was recorded at the Finca Altozano in Baja California, where the band members stayed as guests of celebrated chef Javier Plascencia — a longtime fan.

Argentine producer Sebastián Krys — the band’s longtime collaborator — calls this his Alan Lomax experiment. The album was recorded live on tape with a variety of strategically placed microphones capturing hints of ambient sonics — a sweet afternoon breeze, the clinking of glasses, the musicians’ banter, the soft sounds that accompany stillness. 

From the very beginning, the making of Cuatro Copas mirrors the band’s bohemian cosmovision: A communal approach where the quartet — together with carefully selected guest stars — get together to share the magic of creation, the unity of like-minded souls, homemade food, and more than a couple of drinks. In effect, the bottles of mezcal and never ending rounds of toasting quickly become a running joke throughout the documentary.

La Marisoul’s fragile lament is enveloped in spiraling lines of mournful electric guitars with soulful understatement on the track "Almohada." Guest artists liven things up, with Oaxacan sister duo Dueto Dos Rosas adding urgency to "Pescadores de Ensenada," while son jarocho master Patricio Hidalgo ventures into a lilting (yet hopeful) "Yo Vengo A Ofrecer Mi Corazón," the ‘90s Argentine rock anthem by Fito Páez.

Visibly delighted to be part of the bohemia, 60-year-old ranchera diva Aida Cuevas steals the show with her rousing rendition of "Cuatro Copas," the José Alfredo Jiménez classic. "Viva México!" she exclaims as the entire group sits around a bonfire at night, forging the past and future of Mexican American music into one.

Read more: La Santa Cecilia Perform "Someday, Someday New"

Following the screening, the band sat down for a Q&A session hosted by journalist Betto Arcos. Sitting on the first row, a visibly moved young woman from El Salvador thanked the band for helping her to cope with the complex web of feelings entailed in migrating from Latin America. La Santa’s songs, she said, reminded her of the loving abuelita who stayed behind.

"We love the old boleros and rancheras," said La Marisoul. "We became musicians by playing many of those songs in small clubs and quinceañeras. It’s a repertoire that we love, and I don’t think that will ever change."

Carlos touched on his experience being a member of Santa Cecilia for about seven years before he was able to secure legal status in the U.S. When the band started to get concert bookings in Texas, they would take long detours on their drives to avoid the possibility of being stopped by the authorities. Carlos thanked his wife Ana for the emotional support she provided during those difficult years.

Ramírez took the opportunity to acknowledge producer Krys for being an early champion of the band. "He had a vision, and he made us better," he said, flashing forward to a recent edition of the Vive Latino festival. "There were about 12,000 people to see us," he said. "And they were singing along to our tunes."

"The band is just an excuse to hang out with your friends," added La Marisoul just before La Santa performed two live songs. Her voice sounded luminous and defiant in the theater’s intimate space, always the protagonist in the group’s delicately layered arrangements.

"The first time I got to see the finished documentary, I felt proud of all the work we’ve done together," said producer Krys from his Los Angeles studio the day after the screening. "On the other hand, there’s a lot of work ahead of us. I believe La Santa Cecilia deserves wider exposure. They should be up there among the greatest artists in Latin music."

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Not all Norah Jones fans know this, but her debut 2002 album Come Away With Me was recorded in its entirety a whopping three times. Her latest, Visions, is no less detailed or exacting. But in true Blue Note fashion — it's out March 8, via said label — it sprang from an improvisatory, immediate space.

"I didn't really have a lot of preconceived ideas," Jones tells GRAMMY.com over Zoom, as a typically oppressive winter in New York blurs into spring. ("I like winter," she says. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one.") Despite this dearth of advance material, "We just wrote and played," Jones continues. "And, honestly, he's one of the most fun people I get to play music with."

"He" is none other than producer, multi-instrumentalist and two-time GRAMMY nominee Leon Michels; Jones, a nine-time GRAMMY winner and 19-time nominee herself, previously worked with him on her first-ever holiday album, 2021's I Dream of Christmas.

Highlights like "Staring at the Wall," "Running" and "I'm Awake" show Jones is clearly the same artist who made classics like Come Away With Me and 2004's Feels Like Home — but in the ensuing decades, her work has assumed layers of adventurousness and dynamism.

"I love playing music with people and collaborating and trying new things, and I feel very at ease with myself and as myself in all those situations," Jones says. "Which is why it works, I think. I'm not trying to be somebody else when I do this. I'm comfortable, but I love to just try new clothes on musically."

Read on for a breakdown of people, concepts and things that inspired the making of Visions.

Her Podcast "Norah Jones Is Playing Along"

Over 32 episodes and counting, Jones has sat down with everyone from Jeff Tweedy to Seth MacFarlane to Laufey for extemporaneous collaborations and conversations. Jones notes that they're gearing up to release more episodes.

While she doesn't expressly note the podcast as a direct influence, its one-on-one format harmonizes with the dynamic between herself and Michel on Visions.

"I think anything you do influences you in some ways, even if you don't realize how," Jones says. "I've always been a pretty open musician, but I just feel like I get more and more open."

Her Creative Synergy With Leon Michels

When Jones had a shred of an idea — a few lyrics, a sketch of a melody — she would sit at a piano or guitar, Michels would get behind the kit, and they'd jam it out, garage band-style.

From there, the collaborators would add "a ton of harmonies" — more on that later — as well as bass, guitar, horns, organ, or whatever else would elevate the songs.

"The live energy you feel on those recordings is from me and him playing drums and piano or guitar," Jones says, "and just having fun."

Subconscious, Subterranean Zones

As Jones noted in the press materials, Visions came from a space beyond wakefulness.

"The reason I called the album Visions is because a lot of the ideas came in the middle of the night or in that moment right before sleep," she said. She then evoked the lead single: "'Running' was one of them where you're half asleep and kind of jolted awake."

"I think it just all flowed really fast," Jones says in retrospect. "There were some songs that I had to tweak the lyrics more because they were slower to come, but most of them were pretty fast."

Stacking Harmonies — Christmas Style

Two years and change ago, I Dream of Christmas displayed a newer facet of Jones' sound: dense, layered harmonies. It worked so well on those yuletide tunes that Jones and Michels expanded on that concept for Visions.

"I'm always hearing harmonies, and I'm pretty quick at adding them," Jones recalls, and he's always, "Add a harmony, add a harmony, add a harmony." It's really part of the sound of the record."

Jones says this comes straight from her record collection. "It does come pretty naturally. It comes from years of loving music," she says. "I mean, I used to imitate Aretha's background singers. I think it was Cissy Houston. I love that kind of harmony." (Plus, she sang in jazz groups and high school and college, with 10 vocalists as a united throng.)

For Jones' upcoming tour dates on the East Coast, which span May and June, Michels won't be present. But those shimmering, layered vocals will.

Bringing Two More Singers To The Party

Along with four-time GRAMMY-winning drummer extraordinaire Brian Blade and the great, indie-oriented bassist Josh Lattanzi, Jones will perform alongside singers Sasha Dobson and Sami Stevens, who will also chip in on guitar and keys.

"We had our first rehearsal yesterday, and it sounds incredible," Jones says, aglow. She then considers the nuances of bringing studio creations to life onstage.

"Sometimes, you want to hit all the parts and sometimes you can and sometimes you can't," she says. "And you have to strip a song back and it sounds just as great, because it's a good song, and that's always a good feeling."

Onstage, though, Jones says they'll have all the resources to pull it off. Call it Visions come to life, and made material.

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It was weeks before the "Rhapsody in Blue" centenary, but Ethan Iverson still tore a hole in the Gershwinverse.

In a controversial New York Times opinion piece titled "The Worst Masterpiece: 'Rhapsody in Blue' at 100," the jazz pianist and composer called the classical crossover hit "corny and caucasian." And despite applause from the Black musical architects it drew from, like Art Blakey, Billy Strayhorn and Tadd Dameron, "The promise of 1924 hasn't been honored," Iverson asserted.

While a fairly even-handed read, "The Worst Masterpiece" reopened online fissures over race, genre, heritage, academia, the classical repertoire… the list goes on. (At press time, the debate's still actively raging on Jazz Facebook and the rest.)

Is George Gershwin's catchy, world-renowned fusion of European classical with jazz and ragtime really "naïve and corny"? Or is it a bridge built, a barrier busted, a bastion of unity in a fractionated world? What's most heartening is that we still care enough to argue about it.

Love it or loathe it, "Rhapsody in Blue" still pulses with life 100 years after its New York City premiere.

Enter Lara Downes, a celebrated American pianist who's given this "Rhapsody" her own spin via Rhapsody in Blue Reimagined. Out Feb. 2 via Pentatone, Downes' take reflects on immigration, American musical roots, and a whole lot more on her psyche.

"He was really, really influential in laying the groundwork for a lot of ideas about the way that things can go," Downes tells GRAMMY.com, "where you can infuse a symphony with jazz music music, but you're also letting symphonic sounds come into pop music."

That being said, a century has come and gone, and we're in a wildly different space regarding cultural exchange and race relations than we were in Gershwin's day.

So, for Rhapsody in Blue Reimagined, Downes felt compelled to dig much deeper into its diasporic roots — like expanding its purview to include the diasporas of Central and South America, Asia, the Middle East, and many other regions intrinsic to the development of Black American music.

"We are blessed and stuck with this piece, a flawed classic that exemplifies our nation's unsettled relationship with the originators of African American music and technique," Iverson concluded.

Which is a perfect way to sum up a piece practically begging to be built upon, in more ways than one — which will ensure we'll still be talking about it in 2124. Turn up Rhapsody in Blue Reimagined — and, then, perhaps Iverson's excellent new Blue Note album, Technically Acceptable — and keep reading for a partial list of why "Rhapsody in Blue" resonates.

It Truly Is A Melting Pot

Sure, it's a cliché, but a cliché for a reason. With "Rhapsody in Blue," Gershwin gamely attempted to cross-pollinate Black and white traditions, to at least partial success.

"Rhapsody in Blue" was commissioned by Paul Whiteman, a key figure in symphonic jazz and — for good or ill — another lightning rod as regards race and the music. The title of the concert? "An Experiment in Modern Music."

"My idea for the concert," Whiteman explained in his autobiography, "was to show these skeptical people the advance which had been made in popular music from the day of the discordant early jazz to the melodious form of the present."

Which, to be clear, is quite the claim about early jazz — at best, contestable, at worst, offensive. But Gershwin's heart was in the right place, and the result isn't just catchy as hell, but on a certain level, admirable.

"Gershwin is well aware of what he's doing, and he really doesn't give a damn what people think," Joseph Horowitz, the author of Classical Music in America: A History of its Rise and Fall, told NPR. "He wanted to bridge musical worlds that were separate."

It's Permeated With Joy

About those catchy melodies — "Rhapsody in Blue" is absolutely stuffed with them, which lends itself to a sense of effervescent joy. (No wonder so many, with such warm memories of this music, leapt out in response to that alleged Times takedown.)

Of course, race relations in America have largely been the opposite of glowing. But as a pure listening experience — an idealized space — it's easy to get swept away in its giddy grandeur.

By expanding "Rhapsody in Blue" in more ways than one, Downes has given its disciples even more to love. Not only has she extended the composition by some 10 minutes — through sheer inclusivity of forms, sounds and colors, Downes honors the immigration that still constitutes America's essence.

Its Influence Is All Over The Place

The genre-crossing visionary perhaps most vocally influenced by "Rhapsody in Blue" is Brian Wilson: when you consider the ingredients for the Beach Boys' inimitable sound, it's right up there with Chuck Berry, surf music, Phil Spector, and the Four Freshmen.

"I must have been two or three, which meant that the record was only about a year old," Wilson wrote in his memoir of the Glenn Miller version of "Rhapsody in Blue." "When [my grandmother] played it for me, I was blown away. I was transported somewhere else."

Elsewhere, you can hear its yearning, patriotic strains throughout the works of Randy Newman — albeit often sarcastically, as in the slaver's sales pitch for America, "Sail Away." Béla Fleck transcribed it.

While Gershwin's effort wasn't universally beloved by any stretch, the likes of Maurice Ravel and Arnold Schoenberg took him abundantly seriously.

And as Downes' take on "Rhapsody in Blue" demonstrates, the 100-year-old composition is  best seen as a canvas for us all to paint on, not a dead-in-the-water work trotted out in concert to fill seats. 

This "Rhapsody" doesn't belong to one composer, or one set of gatekeepers; it belongs to all of us.

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