From Whence, Fragment?

Eine Kleine Esa-Pekka

Eine Kleine Esa-Pekka

I must confess that lately I have fallen in

To swooning over Esa-Pekka Salonen

Conductor and composer and artiste

Makes other maestros wish they were deceased

Now Alsop’s such a genius with a score

Her Rite’ll leave you sobbing on the floor

And corazones melt for Gus the Dude

Whose Ludwig’s always lush and well-shampooed

And oh so hard does Rattle shake and roll

His Planets will profoundly tilt your pole

And Alan G. can truly hit the spot

With tender touches on your Turandot

And how the mighty Mikey Tilson Toms

Gets bloomers drippin’ when he’s droppin’ Brahms

No question, all those cats can sure conduct

But next to Esa-Pekka, they are fucked

Of course, I cannot say I’ve heard

His records or his shows

Not the concerts he’s conducted

Nor the works he did compose

I’ve never heard his music

But I love him just the same

For my heart leaps up in rapture at

The music of HIS NAME


A masterpiece, make no mistekka!

His name’s a train upon a track!

A gravel crunch! A glacier crack!


It may be rude, but what the hecka!

His name’s a froggy mating call!

A piston pump! A bouncy ball!

A squeaking cork! A scratching cat!

A frying pan of bacon fat!

A roaring hearth! A racing horse!

A secret agent’s frantic Morse!

A marching corps! A muscle car!

It ain’t no standard repertoire!

It’s sibilants and voiceless stops!

It’s snaps and crackles! Later, Pops!


He’s serious as a heart attecka!

His name’s a skipping phonograph!

A slot machine! A smoker’s laugh!


My philharmonic motherfecka!

His name is power, pain, and poise!

It’s every note, and every noise!

Arranged for something xylophoney

It might resemble Reich-a-roni!

With organ backing (LORDY BLESS!)

It might just make an Ollie Mess!

If belted on a Broadway stage

It might be Cats as sprung from Cage!

Repeated for an hour or three

It might be Glass as sung by Glee!


It’s all I hablo, parle, and spreche-a!

To country hick or city slecka!

To Mrs. Right or marriage-wrecka!

In Mission Hills or holy Mecca!

In trailer park or posh Tribeca!

I don’t mean any disrespek-a

But break me off a double-decka

Eine kleine

Hunka hunka





His name may well be super-commonplace

In Finland and in furthest outer space

But I’ll forever hear it as, I hope,

An onomatopoeic magnum ope