A fascinating piece in the Guardian compiles various composers' assessments of Pierre Boulez, who celebrates his eightieth birthday tomorrow. They range from the effusive to the dismissive; the comment by Thomas Adès is especially striking. Would it have been better to suspend, at least for one day, the endless feuding that the name Boulez inspires? Absolutely not — it would betray the splendidly pitiless spirit of this singular man, who spoke so contemptuously of his elders when he was young, and who still happily goes on the warpath. Just last year he had this to say about his old friend Stravinsky: "[He] began so well, pursuing a real line of development. But then he becomes an epigone, trying this historical style, then that one. There is virtuosity of gesture, but no content." Oh, Pierre. Happy birthday!