How not to write

Is there a composer who blends shadow and substance as unforgettably as Chopin? The music invades our soul [sic.] but also stands apart with an aristocratic reserve; the melodies quiver with sensitivity but arise from an intricate web of counterpoint that emulates Bach. And we will never get enough of it, as a new batch of recordings proves.

...intimacy... roulade... columnar tone... jump-cut transitions... bizarre motivic gestures... subtly modulating flow...

Granted, arts criticism brings out the worst in any writer (howsoever young and handsome); but you really don't expect this kind of nonsense in The New Yorker.