I keep getting this piano trio stuck in my head lately. I don’t have any idea what inspired it, but every time I hear it, I imagine Rachmaninoff sitting awake late at night in a restaurant car on a Russian train. Everyone else is asleep. He has a cup of coffee, an ashtray, and a notebook crammed with pages and pages of the black scrawl of his writing, and since the trio is an elegy, I imagine that he is traveling to a funeral. The snowy, moonlit steppes fly by outside the foggy windows in a wash of black and gray and bluish white.

Eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, the composer lifts his pen and begins to write…

Part Two of the trio is here.

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