When I was a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, I decided to buy a CD of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. I can’t be sure why, but I think it had to do with the relative cheapness of the album. It was a crummy disc in a cheap case at the local London Drugs. It had a stock photo of a forest on it, and it cost probably about five dollars. Maybe it was all I could afford, maybe I wanted to stretch my pocket money as far as possible, it’s hard to say with any certainty at this point. I don’t remember if I bought a single other thing that day, but I remember taking it home with me.

I popped the disc in and I loved it. Maybe not every single piece hit me immediately, but the sprightly burst of joy I got from Spring was incredible. I had almost certainly heard it before, but it still had me buzzing with delight. I listened to that CD off and on for years. I bet I still have it in some box.

As I got older I did come to recognize the ubiquity of the songs. Hardly something special I had discovered, it was present everywhere. It didn’t stop me from listening to it, but it did shift my appreciation from something rarefied to something simply fun. I took a certain delight in my ability to pick it out quickly. I enjoyed asking other people if they knew what was playing, and if they did, if they knew which season it was. I enjoyed humming the opening notes.

Fast forward two decades, driving down the highway I get the sometimes itch to listen to this guilty indulgence. To hear the explosive sounds of summer and the steady march of winter. However, behind the wheel I can’t fiddle with my phone, so I put my blind trust in Siri to do it. Siri has been known from time to time to get it a little bit wrong. Once I asked her to play "Bird of Prey", the not so classic song by Fatboy Slim, instead I got a song wholly unrecognizable to my ears. So I've learned to be a little bit more specific with my requests.

"Play The Four Seasons by Vivaldi," I asked her.

No way to misinterpret that. Except there was apparently. A strange, haunting and glowing swarm of strings warming up. An echo of the familiar over lush textures. Whatever immediate urge I had to stop the music fades away. What is this? I pulled into the parking lot, eager to find out what I'm hearing. It's "Recomposed by Max Richter - Vivaldi: The Four Seasons". It's almost overwhelming in its richness.

The rest of the day I perseverate on it. I listen to it again and again- in car, in my home, at work, while I brush my teeth- it becomes rather consuming. It's like hearing something I know for the first time.

There is every chance, that like decades past, this too will fade ever so slowly in my esteem. Today, however, I am sure that this is the greatest thing I've ever heard. Today, I am convinced that this will convert anyone into a classical music fan. Today, I'd really like it if you gave this a listen, if only the first three minutes.