It’s Stephen Sondheim’s birthday this Sunday.
He has been called many things – the last master of the Broadway musical, the Sigmud Freud of New York gender relations, the Albert Einstein of notes and syllables. None of these capture the nature of his particular art and craft – obsessive precision, allied to immense knowledge and a flow of dark humour and counter-intuitive inspiration.
I treasure the (three) hours I have spent at different times in his company.
Did someone say Company?