I picked out an obscure, average Beethoven piece that I only really heard for the first time a few weeks ago, to show that everything he wrote contains the element of his genius. You don't need to pick the 9th Symphony to make this comparison: even the piece I chose was overkill, and any bagatelle or lieder would have served the same purpose.I picked All of Me because it's catchy, accessible, typical of the period, and I've always loved that particular version.
I picked an early Beatles song because it serves to demonstrate the relative simplicity and infantile "music by numbers" formula that characterizes the music of the last 50 years. I could also have picked For No One, one of my favorite Beatles songs, and had a lot more to say. So yes, I picked a simple piece on purpose, but I want to make it clear that I love Twist and Shout, turn up the radio when it comes on, sign along with those boys from Liverpool at the climax, and fondly remember Ferris Bueller's antics. I will even go so far as to say that the last two songs are more dear to me than the String Quartet.
It would be far too simple to point out the complexity, ingenuity, subtlety, creativity, and inspiration that decreases with each example. In the end, doing so would be counter-productive. Feeling assailed, many of you pop listeners will grow even more firmly entrenched, and begin to resent and despise the music that you now simply scorn and ignore. So...
Why this exercise?
My hope is that one of you (besides my Dad, who is already on board) will actually play these pieces, follow along with the second-by-second analysis I have so painstakingly recorded, and really listen to this music. After the Beatles, a light bulb may go off, at which point you'll play a few more songs, start to hear the pattern, and understand better why you like certain pop songs more than others. Don't worry: it won't ruin pop music for you when you see how simple it is, because it is simple on purpose, so that it's accessible to everyone, down to the lowest common denominator. You gotta reach the largest customer base possible in order to make the most money, right? Like it or not, we all find ourselves humming the crap that they force into every second of our summer vacation.If you listen to the Jazz piece, that idiom will grow more familiar to you; this is a good thing, since it is the Daddy of Rock n' Roll, and therefore very similar to you, once you give it a chance. Since you'll quickly learn the structure, as it is intuitive, you can then focus on the artistic creativity and talent of the musicians, and realize it's not just for beatniks and old farts. Jazz is so wonderful exactly because it is simple, because it takes that simple something and decorates it so much that you barely recognize it (kind of like a Sicilian Caretto, which after all is just a horse cart)
If you listen to the classical piece, or even just the first movement, my ardent hope is that by understanding the basics, you can start to enjoy Classical music on more than just a superficial aesthetic or stylistic level. You'll see that pauses, delayed gratification, and unfulfilled expectations can be thrilling and deeply satisfying. I am heartsick at the common assumption that Classical music is elitist, too complicated for leisurely listening, archaic, or impossible to understand. It is none of those things. All it takes is a little discipline (run for the hills!) and some time. And don't tell me you don't have time: most of you spend hours each week watching commercials, checking out fantasy football stats, not to mention working like plough oxen, head bowed and shoulders straining. And whatever you do, don't tell me that after work all you want to do is chillax, drink a beer, and zone out with your most important signifcant other, TV. This means that work has stolen the only active moments of thinking in your entire day, leaving you a zombie when the time comes to think for yourself! No! Take back your thoughts, make the effort, please!
Why this large 4-blog-post tangent, this waste of your precious personal internet time?
I have noticed that many people ask what I think about when I walk. Well, that's a difficult question to answer, and I've given it some thought (haha), and have even prepared a response in the form of a future blog post, still to be written. However, I spend about three hours a day listening to music, and my mind is often (though not always) focused on the music during that time. Therefore, a large chunk of my thinking time while I walk is devoted to music, and it seems right that I should share that element of my voyage with you. It is not hard to see that music is my true life's passion, so I wanted to share my thoughts about it while I have this convenient (though shaky) soapbox at my disposition. Very few of you, even among my closest friends, have ever asked me to go into detail in this way. On one particular day, I thought of all the musicians that my friends have introduced to me, and whose music I now love and listen to frequently: Bob Dylan, G. Love and Special Sauce, Jimi Hendrix, and so on. But then I started to grow just a little resentful. Knowing how much music means to me, very few of those same friends have ever asked me to play music that I loved, and if they impatiently sat through it, they never made one fifth of the effort I did to get to know it, to really appreciate it. You might respond, well pop is more accessible, but I would disagree with that; just because it's modern doesn't make it any more accessible or pleasant to listen to. You might then respond that while they made an effort to point out the music to me, I never made the same effort to point it out to them. I could've pushed harder. Maybe so: but I can't tell you how many times I've been asked to change the music at my house or in my car, "here let me plug in my ipod, nobody wants to listen to that, we need some music to pump us up," etc. After a while, it's easier to give up than to keep pushing. Now, don't think that this is a jab at my friends, who after all are very supportive. However, realize that this is my one chance to present music in the way I've wanted to present it to all of you for so long. That, in a long answer, is the "why" for taking your precious time.
At the same time, who am I kidding. You skimmed this, saw that the blog post was really really long and that the pictures were "just" detail photos and not of a storytelling nature, closed the window, and spent more time checking out that joke email you just received. In one eye and out the other. Even if that is the case, as I fear it is, I do not feel that this was a fruitless enterprise. Simply putting these thoughts on paper has caused me to listen with more attention to detail than I have done since college, when my coursework forced me to do so. At some point, I forgot to listen in this way, and it is only in the last month or so that it has come back to me. It took one day of rough walking and deep thinking, but that one day stirred this urgent desire to approach music once more in a fresh way. Music becomes more and more moving and satisfying the more you know about it, and the closer you examine its intricacies.
I just want to enjoy classical music in the background. There's nothing wrong with enjoying music on a superficial level. It is pleasant to the ear, creates mood, fills the silence, is good for working and/or studying, etc. Why are you so insistent that we get into the details, learn to hear structure, actively listen multiple times to the same piece? Why are you so pushy?
Because enjoying music on a superficial level is like eating a delicious meal without bothering to think about the ingredients, or reading an amazing novel without bothering to think about the author's message, or the tools he employs to convey it, or glancing at a painting as you shuffle by, eyes bleary and mind floating elsewhere.
You're at the Louvre on a sweaty, crowded Paris afternoon. You've allotted all of 28 minutes for the entire collection, sure that there's no way you could see a 10th of it anyways even if you spent all day, and after all the sun is shining and there's so much to see in your 3 and a half days in Paris. What do you do with your time, then?
Following the crowds and the signs (turn left, 50 m to the right) that cater to you and the others of your ilk, you wend your way past priceless masterworks, glancing at a painting or two as you shuffle through the enormous hallways. Your feet already hurt and you kinda need to pee as you walk down one last long corridor, and you finally take a right into a densely packed gallery. Cameras are clicking, guides speaking in many different languages create a tower of Babel effect as people jostle, more like stadium fans than museum patrons, for the perfect position, so they can take that perfect shot to show to their bored dinner guests upon their return.
Standing on your tiptoes, you see her, smiling for the camera as she has for oh so long, and you think: smaller than I thought it would be. You take your picture, look at her face, and swallow your hushed satisfaction as you cross one more cultural bullet point off your list. Did you look at the landscape in the background? What kind of clothes was she wearing? Was she pretty? Was she wearing rings? Oh well, you can look at the picture in more detail later, while your friend/spouse/significant other/television/parent is in the bistro bathroom, because you can't sit still looking like an idiot while you're alone for those 90 seconds. Heaven forbid.
28 minutes have passed, time to go get a crepe and wander around Saint Michel, so you turn around and make for the exit. As you leave, you look at the wall opposite the milling crowds. It's a huge work, a gigantic painting. It looks like a feast, a table is set, and they're obviously having fun. You stop for a second, attracted by the brilliant colors, the excitement of the figures, the dynamic action of the piece. It's pretty, you think, and start to turn away.
And then you see him. He's in the center of the canvas, yet you were distracted, and you had missed it before. You look at his face, his eyes speak volumes to you, they burn right to the core of your soul, and you stop dead in your tracks, transfixed. Slowly, the other characters blur and then disappear, it's just you and him, but only for one sweet moment, and then the whole canvas fades back into your vision. This time, however, you see the whole piece in a new light. You see the classical architecture of the background and smile when you realize that this is the artist showing off his skill. You study the perspective lines and realize that the principal ones all lead to that central figure's eyes. You see the dogs in the foreground, notice how each hair is painstakingly drawn out, and remember hearing that dogs usually stand for loyalty, a delightful detail in the midst of the greater work. You see the figures fooling around, oblivious to the gravity of the momentous occasion that forms the painting's setting, and realize that the artist is sending you a life message here. You get the point, a bit guilty that you too had missed it at first, but oh so happy you caught it before missing it forever. Approaching closer, you see the name of the artist (don't bother trying to read the description, it's only in French, and it's that way on purpose), and it burns its way into your mind: Paolo Veronese, The Marriage at Cana
You turn around, shake your head mournfully at all the people who will look at this painting but never see it, and walk out of the room, maybe for the last time. You pause: you didn't take a photo! It's because you didn't need to. Now, you either see the other works, postponing that crepe for later, or you walk out of the museum, squinting at the brilliant sun and fanning yourself with the museum map, which you'll throw away soon after. Whatever you do, however, you will always have that moment, and will get butterflies in your stomach when you remember those eyes and the way they looked at you, even 500 years after they were first painted. And that one painting, that one work of art, that one moment of realization, will change the way you look at life, if only you let it.
It takes that one moment to change the lens of your vision, to open your eyes to all the details that become each of them more delightful and meaningful as they grow familiar over time. The next time you see that painting, those eyes will still transfix you, you will still appreciate all those elements you first noticed, but you will also see new ones, or understand more deeply the ones you thought you knew. Over the years, those eyes might send you a different message, the face might go from pitiful to melancholy to deadpan to all-knowing, but there is one thing that is certain: time, repeated viewing, and deeper understanding of the various details will only make those eyes more moving, never less.
And that's why I want you not just to hear, but to listen.
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