Random Memorandum to Mediterranean melody maestro, Yiànnis Hrysomàllis: I am no fancy chappy given to nights at the opera. I am a civil servant, a man of the people, more familiar with the barroom singalongs and bawdy affairs of the working class than I am the black tie gatherings of the nouveau. Yet, in my advancing years, I’ve come to embrace the gentle complexity of your new age piano and string noodlings, those that you’ve lovingly committed to vinyl and that I now access—commercial-free in my Internet patrolling capacity—on the streaming services. In the evening, whilst the missus is glued to the mindless shenanigans on the BBC, I dial up your YouTube channel for epic performances at the Acropolis, the Royal Albert Hall and on the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous with former partner Linda Evans, twelve years your senior. Your flowing mane and dark chocolate moustache stir things inside of me that I dare not confront. How can a man so devastatingly handsome wrestle such depth and nuance from each of the 188 keys on a piano? Yours is a Grecian formula not to be duplicated, sir. Bravo, Yanni!
