Abstract
January 1 1995 opened the year marking the 300th anniversary of Henry Purcell’s death. Apart from a few magical moments, I have to confess that I find his music too much the same. But no sooner had Big Ben stopped chiming, Purcell-philes emerged from every nook and cranny and his music could be heard throughout the land. At the end of January I bumped into a friend who was a Purcell fanatic and, expecting him to be wallowing in this cultural sauna, was amazed to hear him confess, ‘I’m getting sick of Purcell and there’s 11 months to go.’
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