A filmmaker's response to Sergei Bondarchuk's War and Peace — the Soviet epic restored by Criterion and available now in its full four-part, seven-hour form. On spectacle, chaos, Pierre Bezukhov, and why nothing in the history of cinema quite compares.

There is a painting in the Art Institute of Chicago that almost no one stops to look at. Thomas Birch painted it sometime between 1806 and 1812, and he called it Capture of the Tripoli by the Enterprise. It commemorates a war that has been almost entirely forgotten — which is a pity, because that war contains the most important argument the United States ever made about the freedom of the seas. And that argument is more urgently relevant today than it has been in two centurie

The evening was organized around the idea of America — its founding ideals, its contradictions, its music — and it unfolded with the kind of architectural clarity that only a conductor of long experience can bring to a program. Slon has spent a quarter century building something at UVA that is difficult to name and easy to feel: a choral culture in which students sing not just with technical accomplishment but with genuine understanding of what the music means and where it co

Douglas Shadle’s recent essay in the New York Times, “It Wasn’t Easy Being a Founding Father of the American Symphony,” presents itself as an act of historical recovery. But the logic of the argument does not hold. And once you begin to trace where it fails, a different picture emerges — one in which the desire to find American origins has led to a fundamental misreading of who Bristow was and what his work actually represents.

The documentary filmmaker patiently waited for months until the fog of the Epstein's files dissipated to grab an opportunity to seat next to Leon Botstein to discuss what matters to his film on George Bristow. Now, al last, Leon Botstein perspective is part of Live and Music in the Age of Bristow, Montes-Bradley's documentary on 19th Century Music in America.

I intended to make a biography. The working title was simply George Bristow, and the plan was straightforward: rescue a forgotten American composer from the obscurity into which history had carelessly dropped him, and let audiences discover what they had been missing.

Of Thee I Sing traces the country's musical identity through the instruments that shaped it — from Native American traditions and the colonial period through the waves of immigrant innovation that defined the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

When we speak of the birth of an American musical identity, the conversation inevitably narrows itself to Boston and New York, only occasionally to include Philadelphia and perhaps New Orleans. Names like George Bristow and William Henry Fry are invoked as pioneers of symphonic ambition in the United States. And rightly so — they were courageous figures, advocating for a national voice at a time when European models dominated concert life.

George Frederick Bristow and the Monroe Horizon:Cultural Sovereignty in the Nineteenth-Century Americas

From Carnegie Hall in New York to the global stage of the Super Bowl, this reflection considers how American cultural identity continues to evolve. In the wake of Bad Bunny’s historic 2026 halftime performance, where Puerto Rican culture and Spanish-language music reached an unprecedented mass audience, this essay asks what it means to inherit, transform, and reimagine identity in the United States, just as George Frederick Bristow and his contemporaries did more than a centu

As I complete work on a documentary film about George Frederick Bristow, nearing its release, last Friday marked a remarkable moment in New York: the long-awaited premiere of Bristow’s Fifth Symphony, The Niagara, finally heard at Carnegie Hall. The concert, presented by the American Symphony Orchestra under Leon Botstein, crowned a week-long Bristow celebration that included conferences and conversations at Lincoln Center, The Century Association, and the CUNY Graduate Cente

And then, in William Hill’s New York there are the specifics. My favorite: the Daguerreian Gallery of Illustrious Americans, located at 205 Broadway, already present in the city by the mid-1840s. Its inclusion is not incidental. It places this image at the threshold between older forms of representation and the emerging modern world of mechanical reproduction.

As America strove to forge identity through music, literature, painting, and the arts more broadly, a remarkable innovation was quietly reshaping the musical landscape. It was precisely in this context that the piano, transformed by the invention of the iron frame by Bostonian piano maker Alpheus Babcock, entered the scene.

One of the guiding principles behind George Frederick Bristow: American Composer has been to understand not only Bristow himself, but the musical world he inherited. This short sequence from the film, featuring composer and scholar Neely Bruce, helps illuminate that earlier soundscape with remarkable clarity.

And then the Civil War barged in, rude as a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving. You can’t tell Bristow’s story without it: 750,000 Americans dead in four years—how many of them might have someday sat in a concert hall to hear one of his symphonies, or become the next generation of musicians carrying his work forward? I hit pause on everything else and started patching together that chapter—still pinning photos to the wall like a detective.

Light & The City will be the first documentary to bring this story to the screen — a film about photography not as an artistic afterthought to European invention, but as a homegrown act of innovation rooted in New York’s workshops, rooftops, and factories.

New York City, January 29, 2026 --- I’m honored to be joining an extraordinary group of scholars and musicians at the Forging an American Identity conference this January in New York City. The conference opens Wednesday, January 28, at Geffen Hall, Sidewalk Studio, Lincoln Center, and my participation will take place the following day, Thursday, January 29, at the Elebash Recital Hall at the Graduate Center, City University of New York.

The distinction—between the beautiful and the sublime—was crucial to nineteenth-century aesthetics, and it became the fault line in the cultural dialogue between America and Europe. Europe had the beautiful: cultivated landscapes, historic cities, art that had been refined over centuries.