T here’s something strikes me as singularly appropriate during my pilgrimage to Steve Reich’s home in remote upstate New York on an overcast day in late fall. It’s not just the house with its clean lines and functional, interiors, laden bookshelves in the lounge stretching from floor to lofty ceiling. There’s something spare, dare one say minimalist about the terrain, clean-limbed, bare twigs stretching towards an uncluttered, somewhat bleak skyline.

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