He couldn't write a symphonic allegro to save his life.
The opening allegro crackled with masculine high jinks.
The opening allegro was written in a white heat of inspiration, during a holiday in the mountains near Graz; he seems to have run out of manuscript paper, for the last 50 bars are scribbled out on dinner napkins.
Tabakov nearly scrambled the outer allegros in a quest for speedy excitement.
