Listening to the music of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, I'm always terrified that ordinary household objects might suddenly burst into life and start dancing around the living room in a frenzy of bacchic furniture; a crazed table and chair leg version of the can-can and a conga line combined. No doubt this has more to do with the somewhat sprightly sounding quality of his name and the similarly exuberant titles of his compositions than with the tempo of the actual music. Likewise, listening to the music of Alban Berg, fortunately a rare occurrence in the circumstances, makes me think all my plants are going to immediately wither and die.