Betwixt new Haven and Hyannis yesterday on the car radio (the classical music station from Hartford  is superior to any in Manhattan) we played the usual guessing games to keep us awake at the wheel... Overhearing a swooning in medias res we ask, What's this? It's endless enough to be Mahler, but not neurotic enough. Probably Bruckner. But when the diretionless self-indulgence, without climax, without invention, but with annoying familiarity merged into the last movement, we suddenly recognized Beethoven's Ninth.