Isn't it time Martin Bernheimer was put out to pasture? Or at least secured a new hearing aid?
His "critique" of Russian emigre Vladimir Feltsman's West Coast debut was, as usual, far off the mark ("Feltsman Makes a Modest Debut at Pavilion," April 27).
Nothing Feltsman could have done would have pleased this naysayer. If Feltsman had played with heavy, overly soulful romanticism, he would have been accused of "bludgeoning" and "sentimental ooze."
If "his poised and polished phrasing inspired admiration," Bernheimer, on the other hand, wanted him more "wild." And furthermore, "it engendered little excitement"; this despite "an instant standing ovation at the end," and five or six curtain calls.
I resent for myself and hundreds of others the implication that we were merely applauding the vicissitudes and media phenomenon of the man, and not the musician.