I am so happy to rediscover this 30-minute documentary on Aaron Copland. I remember watching it years ago. What an exciting time for American music – and for America – to say nothing of the arts in general. Not that American music does not remain vital. But Copland seems to be the last man standing, in terms of the active repertoire, of that great generation. To catch a Roy Harris or a William Schuman symphony in concert is very rare indeed.

It is the fate of even the greatest composers to be remembered through but a handful of pieces, usually from a particular phase of his or her career. In Copland’s case, it’s pretty much the cowboy music. Some people love it; some are put off by it. Cowboys aren’t exactly “in” right now, and when someone hears “I Ride an Old Paint,” they may not trouble themselves to look beyond the trappings.

But nearly everything Copland wrote is worth hearing – and I’ve heard most of it – even the misfires. Once you get to know him, his sound is immediately identifiable in anything he touched. He had vision, he had craft, and he had integrity.

I love this man, and I love his music, and I love what he did for music. Would that we had someone of his caliber today. Happy birthday, Aaron Copland.