I like classical music. The problem is, I only like Dvorak’s ‘New World Symphony’ and Holst’s ‘The Planets’. I’m very fond of Erik Satie piano music too, but I’m not even sure that counts.
And that’s it. Of all the huge volume and vast variety of classical work, I can only manage affection for two and half recordings.
There’s clearly something wrong here. Music has dominated my life since childhood, from Abba to Crass, Hawkwind to Pet Shop Boys - I have spent more hours listening to bands, attending gigs and humming pop tunes than I have eating or sleeping. I’ve worked as a club DJ, a radio presenter, a music writer and even played bass guitar in a very poor post-punk rock group. Surely my tastes are catholic enough to embrace the sweeping drama and high emotion of orchestral compositions, choral recitals or string quartets? But no.
Heaven knows I’ve tried. My wife and mother are both keen fans of classical music and have often fed me CDs of works they think I’ll appreciate. Without exception, one listen is enough to confirm my inability to find anything enjoyable in the genre. And my excuses aren’t even terribly original:
“It all sounds the same.”
“It’s too long.”
“Where’s the tune?”
“I’m lost".
Please don’t misunderstand. Not for one minute do I deny the incredible talent, skill and dedication it takes to become a proficient classical musician. And the ability to write this astonishingly complex and sophisticated music strikes me as demanding extraordinary levels of creative flair and profound understanding. Nevertheless, the resulting sound leaves me utterly unmoved. This doesn’t please me, it’s just a fact.
In his book ‘Rock Me Amadeus’, Seb Hunter describes his journey from my position to a love of classical music through exploration and education. It’s a great read and shows it is certainly possible to build affection for Handel, Wagner, Mozart and the rest. But I have to wonder whether a musical form which only becomes appealing after study and force of will is really an artistic arena designed for me. 15 years ago I was assured acid house would reveal its glory to me if I took the right drugs – and I am told classical music will become compelling if I understand its context and history. My reaction is the same in both cases: I am resistant to any music that has to be, in some way pre-treated, before I can properly enjoy it.
My lack of connection with classical composing is odd. Many of the pop/rock performances I find the most wonderful, so astonishingly good they strike me dumb with awe, involve grand gestures, melodrama, great passion and large measures of emotion. The Doors’ ‘Riders On The Storm’, Manic Street Preachers’ ‘Everything Must Go’, Elbow’s ‘A Day Like This’, Echo and the Bunnymen’s ‘Killing Moon’ – all have the resonance of orchestral pieces woven through the guitar, bass and drums.
This is a sound I love in contemporary music. When a band uses a string section, I’m usually the first to applaud. So why doesn’t this carry, rather logically, to an adoration of the same classical works my family find so enriching?
Maybe I’m lazy. Perhaps a recording lacking the immediacy of say, ‘Reach Out, I’ll Be There’ is asking too much of an idler like me. It’s possible I’m just not prepared to put enough in to classical music to get anything out. But that’s the way I’ve trained myself to address any music. It’s too extreme to claim that a song has to be instantly lovable to avoid my dismissal, but it must have something to hook and net my attention. In many ways, I believe it is the duty of a worthwhile musical endeavour to arrest me. It must have sufficient originality, energy, pathos, anger, tunefulness, cheek, sexiness, simplicity, poetry – something, anything – to halt my life and demand my time.
And, much to my regret, classical music almost always fails to do that. My loss, I guess.
Magnus Shaw, October 2010
