I am a Beethoven fanatic like no other, NOT MERELY because: I would do bong hits listening (with headphones) to the late String Quartets, whilst my friends did the same to Pink Floyd. I can blindly tell you if Mazell, Solti, Von Karajan, Szell, Gardiner, etc. is conducting Beethoven's 7th. I did a radio show at Tufts WMFO called CHRONICling Beethoven where I encouraged listeners to spark up to LudwigVan. I flirted with Michelle Brentano, notwithstanding her obesity, because she was related to the "Immortal Beloved" Antonia Brentano. I sang "Ode to Joy" to my son upon his birth. I read the Maynard Solomon's book thrice. I use 1770 as my secret keycode/passwords because it was the year LvB was born. NO! It's CHIEFLY because of what happened one fateful night as I was driving home from RI.

My band had driven straight to Naragansett from Savannah that same day, went directly on stage, played 3 hours, and we were now driving home to NYC. Listening to Mozart's Requiem, fighting off slumber, my eyes closed from pure exhaustion. I immediately entered into full R.E.M. sleep. As my car veered off of I-95S, directly toward the Thames River, the two opening hammer stroke chords from Movement 1, Symphony #3, Op. 55, providentially burst forth, awoke me instantaneously, and I swerved back safely onto I-95S. Taking a cue from Hip-Hop legends Public Enemy, I self-assuredly declare: "Mozart was a hero to most but he don't mean s**t to me." Fanaticus Emeritus!