Yesterday afternoon in New Jersey with the youth of Montclair State College. Lecture, three sessions of my music, master class of songs, long ride. It flows, naturally, yet I've not a Socratic bone in my body. Return depressed. (Rehearsal of A Sermon on Miracles, the cantata written in 1947 with Paul. A chorus of about fifty undergraduates plus a small string orchestra did a run-through for my benefit. Invited to comment. I began by asking, "How many of you know Paul Goodman?" Not one hand was raised.) Performed by an orchestra of volunteers simple music sounds even worse than complex music. Haydn and Satie, sloppy and out of tune, are less tenable than Berlioz and Schoenberg sloppy and out of tune. It's hard to be easy.