New book episode

There’s a new

episode — the 13th – of my in-progress book on the future of classical

music online. Or my in-progress improvised draft of a book. But whatever I call

it, the response has been wonderfully warm, quite enthusiastic, really, from

all kinds of people who e-mail me. Or who talk to me out in the physical world.

I’ll refrain from quoting any of the reactions, so this blog won’t read like a

movie ad, but I’m warmly grateful. (And now I’m going to be precise, and say

that this is the 13th episode of the second version of the book, since there

was also a first version, which I abandoned after six episodes that I decided

weren’t going in the right direction. It’s fun to write in the glare of public

light, and yes, I really mean that.)

This new episode continues a section of the book that might

be called, “How Classical Music Got That Way.” Which means, “where

did the classical music world as we know it today come from?” And the answer

is, or at least my answer is: It came from three things, from the emergence of

the very concept of classical music early in the 19th century (or in other

words the concept of supreme musical works, written by supreme creators, and

requiring utter devout silence from anyone listening to them); from the

emergence of modernism, early in the 20th century (which helped put new

classical music beyond the reach of ordinary mortals — but note that I’m

style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>not saying that modernist music is in

itself bad); and finally from the emergence of current pop culture, that (with

rock and jazz) created a musical soundtrack for contemporary life that’s really

far from classical music.

The new episode starts the second part of this, the part

about modernism. And what I try to show is that in the1890s, before modernism

appeared, new music wasn’t considered at all remarkable just because it was

new. By that point (because people really believed in the idea of classical

music), far more music by dead composers was played than music by new composers

(exactly the pattern we have now). But the new music was taken in stride,

welcomed, and often loved. We need to get back to that place today.

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All the old episodes are still online, by the way. Including even the six episodes of the old version. Just go to the main book site, and you’ll see them listed in a box on the left.

Subscribers to the book got a bonus. They got two revealing anecdotes,

one about the first part of the 19th century, when classical music — highbrow

works by serious composers — was fighting with popular music, otherwise known

as opera and recitals by flashy virtuosos. Mendelssohn was a classical

composer, a high priest of a tradition that, as people saw it then, began with

Haydn, Mozart, and especially Beethoven. Donizetti, a prolific, theatrical opera

composer, was a prime example of popular music. But when Mendelssohn’s friends

attacked Donizetti, Mendelssohn (bless the man) defended him. And not even as a

guilty pleasure — he just loved the music. Now, of course, we think Italian

opera is as classical as Mendelssohn, which is just one way that our classical

music world blurs (to put it mildly) any distinction between the many kinds of

work that “classical” composers have written.

The other anecdote for subscribers was an early taste of

something that’ll be in the next episode of the book — how, in 1913, Saint-Saens

(at that point the dean of established Parisian composers) reacted (with

utterly deadpan derision and disbelief) to Stravinksy’s

Rite of Spring. It’s

a priceless story, which I found in the memoirs of Alfredo Casella (an Italian

neoclassicist), and which I haven’t seen printed anywhere else.

To subscribe to the book — which above all means you’ll get

e-mail notification of all new episodes — just click

href="mailto:greg@artsjournal.com">here, and write “subscribe to the book”

in the subject line of the blank e-mail form that will appear. And I’d be grateful

if you’d tell me a little about yourself. My subscribers (bless them all) are a

varied and delightful group, from several countries. Some are classical music professionals

(some of these high-ranking), some very thoughtful music students, some are

equally thoughtful teachers at universities or music schools, and some are just

plain listeners. I like knowing who they are, and I’ve learned a lot from them.