“I’m not an aficionado of modern music,” I recently heard a fellow concertgoer announce. “But that last piece was better than most.” The piece in question was Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms, composed and premiered during the heyday of the Hoover administration and as the Weimar Republic teetered on the brink of collapse. That sunny year was 1930.
“Modern?!” I wanted to turn around and reproach my neighbor in righteous anger. “It’s 82 *&#$(%-ing years old!” I bit my tongue instead (though I registered a comment of disgust under my breath). I know, I know: shame on me for exercising such self-control. Next time perhaps I’ll work up the nerve to say what’s on my mind (and, so long as I keep advocating “modern” music – or at least attending concerts where such “modernists” as Stravinsky are paired with long dead masters like Beethoven – there will be another time, guaranteed).
As I pondered his comment, I found myself thinking that, perhaps, my narrow-minded friend was, in fact, paying Stravinsky a compliment, albeit in a most backhanded fashion: how many octegenarians would mind being described as “modern”? I can imagine not a few would find it flattering. And, I suppose it’s not entirely a bad thing for Stravinsky’s reputation to have something of an edge, even if, in the piece in question, that edge is pretty dull. I mean, the Symphony starts with an E minor triad and ends in C major, which isn’t exactly pushing the envelope, harmonically, even by the standards of the 19th century, let alone the 20th. Oh well – something’s better than nothing, right? (And, no, I’m not knocking the Symphony of Psalms, one of the most transcendent – and astringently ingratiating – pieces Stravinsky or any composer ever wrote. I’m just saying it’s not as daring as some, harmonically.)
As I continued considering the situation, I realized this guy probably lucked out: what if we had been confronted by earlier – or later – period Stravinsky. Suppose if, instead of this middle period score, we had been assaulted with the gut-busting dissonances of Le Sacre? Or the psychedelic Serial ravings of Noye’s Fludde? What might have been his response then? Would he have even shown up or, if he did, would he have had the strength afterwards to make such a silly comment that is provoking a much more thorough response from me than is probably deserved? We should all count our blessings right about now.
I should take a moment to point out that not all older audience members are like this guy: in January I attended a matinee that concluded with the aforementioned Rite of Spring. I ended up sitting next to a friendly woman in her late 80s who, during intermission, raved to me about how much she love Rite and regaled me with the tale of her attending a rehearsal of the piece with Pierre Monteaux (who premiered it in Paris in 1913) when he was music director in Boston in the 1950s. If only I could have bottled her enthusiasm.
I suppose the reason I’m so interested in this subject right now is because I’ve been introducing my now three-week old daughter to as wide a range of music as appropriate. So far, she’s been exposed to such “better-than-most” moderns as Samuel Barber, Gyorgy Ligeti, and John Adams. (At least I’d say they’re “better-than-most.” And, since all the pieces she’s heard by them have been penned post-1930, they’re clearly “moderns.”) This, of course, in addition to some staples of classic pop music like the Beatles, Eric Clapton, Billy Joel, and even a little bit of Queen. She seems to show no appreciable damage from any of them. Yet.
And I don’t anticipate that she will, but that may be owing to her superior genetics and intelligence more than anything else. Nature v. Nurture: which is it?
To get back to the opening comment, though, what really galls me about such ridiculous statements is their innate stupidity. I mean, seriously – how can something that was written when my grandfather was fifteen years old still be considered modern? If that’s the case, we seriously need to redefine the word. And rewrite the music so that it fully lives up to the name (and I concede there are plenty of modern-sounding pieces that are older than Symphony of Psalms. One of them happens to be Beethoven’s Ninth, which was actually the second half of the program I was attending. If only my neighbor knew).
More than anything else, what such a mind-set suggests to me is the sad inability of much of classical music’s present audience to listen actively, critically, or intelligently. Alex Ross recently posted the link to an essay by the Australian composer Andrew Ford that discusses this theme and I’ll leave you with the snatch of it that appears on Ross’s website: “In order to understand music, we must be able to think musically, and this is a talent that most of us can acquire at some level. With physics, you won’t get on with the advanced stuff if you have failed to understand the basics, but with music you can jump in anywhere. If you find the water too chilly, you can always get out and try again later – or try somewhere else. Eventually you are likely to find something that holds your attention and this, in turn, will lead you to another piece of music and another. Most people get this far. The next step is to find yourself listening to music you don’t like or understand, reasoning that with a little persistence on your part the piece in question will begin to reveal its secrets. Surprisingly often, it does. If you’ve come this far, you are, I believe, a musical person, even a musician of sorts, engaging with music at quite a profound level, participating in musical thinking.”
Now that you know the basics, go and sin no more.
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