Classical music consumers continue to benefit from a simple fact: there has never been more stuff of such high quality available at such low prices, and the new releases just keep on coming, month after month. Still, over the past several weeks I have read innumerable articles about the idiocies of the record industry, the lack of adventuresome live programming, conservatism in the selection of new music directors of major American orchestras, the dearth of “greatness” in performance — the litany of gripes is endless. I never cease to be amazed by the barrage of complaints coming routinely from listeners, critics, retailers, and CD producers. Then it hit me: What if there’s something behind all of this bitching and moaning? What if this near universal, restless dissatisfaction (not to be confused with a restless dissatisfaction with Universal) has a simple underlying cause arising somehow from the music itself? Is the industry in crisis, or are today’s listeners? What else accounts for the otherwise inexplicable fact that the more choices it has, the less happy the classical music audience evidently becomes?
Perhaps you find this notion heretical. Well then, consider just how peculiar the current situation is, historically speaking. Let’s start with the very basics of our experience as listeners. We probably all agree that the great classics were, and for the most part still are, written to be enjoyed in concert. Recordings offer only an approximation of the live event. Nevertheless, this is how most people now get their regular musical fix. But more to the point, our perception of the VALUE of the classics as an entertainment experience is based on a fundamental assertion of the music’s supreme quality arising at least in part out of its (until recently) scarcity and inaccessibility. So what happens when something that used to be rare becomes ubiquitous? Like the cost of pocket calculators and microwave ovens, the price declines rapidly, but so does the product’s sense of “specialness,” “uniqueness,” “exclusivity,” and so on.
Given this fact you might still argue legitimately that the “cultural aura” of classical music has nothing to do with its value as “music”, and is merely a snobbish vestige of self-conscious elitism. True enough. But inextricably bound up with the cultural value question, is the fact that we also claim that a “classic” continuously rewards the listener upon repetition, and can sustain innumerable different, equally valid interpretive approaches. I still believe this, but the issue is complicated by the fact that while it’s possible to make this case technically as a discussion of music only, very few contemporary listeners would understand this approach because, unlike audiences at live concerts in previous centuries, modern record collectors are often untrained, ignorant of even the basics of musical nomenclature.
I’m not saying that you need to study music to “appreciate” the classics, but it certainly helps if you want to know what makes a piece of music “great”, and even more in trying to understand the differences between multiple performances of the same work. Barring that, the average enthusiast derives his faith in classical music’s importance and value almost wholly from the cultural arena. So strong, in fact, is the lure of the elitist mentality that I believe many industry professionals, including performers and critics, accept it because it plays to their notions of self-importance in a way that a purely musical approach obviously cannot. And so we have a classical music culture that validates itself more from “culture” than from “music.” Into this scenario comes the recording glut of the past two decades, taking something which used to be a rare, ephemeral experience, and asking listeners to derive pleasure from and find meaning in a depth of often trivial performance detail that only the players themselves ever encounter. It’s a combustible mixture.
I can well remember in the 60s, 70s, and even early 80s, just how special or rare recordings of certain pieces were. Take Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony, for example, a piece that for years existed as a specialty item, infrequently performed and recorded. At the dawn of the CD era, there was only one recording available in the new medium (a lousy sounding old Furtwängler wartime broadcast), and then finally Karajan’s DG version appeared. Yes, there had been other versions on LP, particularly Jochum’s, and Haitink’s, but it was quite a while before they joined the party. Now, I count 35 versions in my own collection, and I can think of at least a dozen more. And this is nothing compared to what has happened with the so-called “popular” classics. What great composer of the past could ever have imagined the possibility of listening to literally dozens, even hundreds, of versions of his works anytime we feel like it? Remember this also: one of the reasons the old classical repertoire was so small was because audiences naturally craved novelty, and gave priority not to “ancient music,” but to new works. I raise this issue not to take up once again the boring discussion of the “crisis” of contemporary music, but rather to emphasize the fact that even when it comes to the so-called “classics,” variety matters. A lot.
Might it not be the case that some of the frustration that produces the current chorus of complaints stems from the fact that the music itself in such quantity simply cannot sustain even a sympathetic listener’s interest? Can anyone’s memory of a large work be specific enough to encompass accurately the unique, meaningful details that distinguish dozens of versions from each other? In short, has listening to yet another recording of the same work become a chore, irrespective of the quality of the performance itself? Has it produced a legion of listeners unable to hear anything but the most obvious or exaggerated aspects of an interpretation, or worse, one whose concept of greatness is a function of “difference” for its own sake? I believe that at least for some people, possibly many, the answer unfortunately is “Yes.”
Now add to this sad fact the general sense of the classics as infinitely repeatable and valuable by virtue not of their musical quality, but their cultural significance. The result can only be an increasing sense of disappointment, fear, defensiveness–even anger. If this music is so damn important and wonderful, then why am I so bored? Am I really supposed to get excited over yet another recording of Brahms’ First Symphony? It must be the fault of the conductor, or the record company, or the orchestra, or everyone at once. After all, does anyone honestly believe that even the most rabid collector will play through fifty or sixty recordings of the same piece in rapid succession in order to determine precisely how the new one stacks up in his personal pantheon? Or will he instead rely on his all too fallible memory to see him through, which will necessarily favor whatever version sticks out most strongly in his mind? And what a job for us critics! Isn’t it easier simply to favor some older recording dating from a period when the critic actually listened carefully and comparatively, or to focus instead on some non-musical aspect such as the performer’s nationality, or personal friendship with the label (two popular criteria), and so discount the newcomer offhand?
How else can we describe the general indifference among listeners and critics that greets what used to be considered important, exciting, and even career-defining projects, such as a fabulous new Beethoven symphony cycle (Barenboim), a superb set of the complete Haydn string quartets (Angeles Quartet), sensational editions of listenable, attractive new music on labels such as BIS (Holmboe symphonies), Marco Polo (Lajtha symphonies and orchestral music), and CPO (symphonies by Atterberg, Antheil, or Villa-Lobos), a wonderfully conducted new Ring cycle (Barenboim again), or such massive projects as Hänssler’s complete Bach, or Hungaroton’s complete Bartók. Never mind whether you agree or disagree with the quality of performance: thirty years ago releases such as this would have mattered. They would have been discussed, listened to, publicized, eagerly anticipated, and more to the point, purchased.
When some jaded listener starts talking about modern performances sounding “the same,” how much of this stems really from his own inability to hear meaningful differences between them? And can we blame him? The popular media is full of articles about the desensitizing qualities of Rap music, but no one dares raise the issue in the classical arena. Can Beethoven’s “Eroica” really remain interesting the hundredth time around in just a couple of years, or does it eventually dull the senses just as overindulgence of other kinds invariably will? Like a richly seasoned gourmet meal, how much classical music is too much? Are we living in the world of “A Clockwork Orange”, where excessive exposure to the classics has become all unknowingly an instrument of torture or aversion therapy? Or is the current situation analogous to the commonly heard cable television whine: 200 channels and nothing to watch!
I don’t have an easy answer to these questions, and I suspect it may be different for each person. But there’s no doubt in my mind that more than the record market has reached the point of saturation, and that a lot of the frustration being voiced stems from a basic fear that our tried and true definition of a “classic” as something infinitely repeatable and ever relevant just might no longer apply. This is especially likely if the perception of the classical repertoire’s artistic value stems less from musical than from cultural assumptions, whether cynically self-serving or grounded in a simple lack of musical knowledge. Of course, you may agree with this hypothesis or not, but it seems to me indisputable that the validity of our definition of classical music is being tested as never before, with consequences no one can guess.
David Hurwitz
