Issue Twelve
The Twilight of Classical Music by JoAnn Falletta
"We can hardly escape from the harbingers of doom in books, magazine and
newspapers who avidly proclaim the state of crisis into which the music world has fallen...”
“Who Killed Classical Music?” asks the title of a recent book, and the startling question seems to crystallize the anxiety and fear of an entire artistic industry. Speculations about the demise of classical music–and the symphony orchestra in particular–seem ubiquitous today. We can hardly escape from the harbingers of doom in books, magazine and newspapers who avidly proclaim the state of crisis into which the music world has fallen. Some authors attempt to identify the various villains responsible–celebrity artists who demand exorbitant fees, rapacious agents and record company executives who ruthlessly impose commercialism on artistic ideals, aloof superstar conductors, fecklessly greedy orchestra musicians, composers of incomprehensible atonal music, fickle and dwindling audiences–but very few propose valid solutions to the problems upon which they enthusiastically expound. Of course, such dire predictions make “good copy” since bad news and gloomy prognostications are more titillating to the average reader. Classical music may be in deep trouble, it seems. Is the 21st century the age that will see the disappearance of the glorious tradition of the symphony orchestra? Musicians of today wonder with heavy hearts if classical music is, indeed, slated to “go down on their watch.” Article upon essay upon book add layers of worry, helplessness and frustration about the future of music. We yearn to return to the “golden age” when music and its importance were never in doubt.
When exactly was that “golden age”? The only thing about which we can be certain is that the golden age is never the present. In reality, the death of classical music is perhaps its oldest continuing tradition. In 1913, horrified critics foretold that Stravinsky’s ground-breaking “Rite of Spring” would destroy music. Similar claims were made for decades about the works of Richard Wagner, who was branded a moral degenerate. Even earlier, Verdi (whose music is now considered the very heart of the operatic corpus) had been accused of ruining the treasured bel canto style with his dramatic vocal writing. Many music lovers in the early 19th century were terrified of the growing influence of the iconoclastic romanticist Ludwig van Beethoven, blaming his mystifying modern music on his deafness. Instrumental virtuosi such as the now venerated Paganini and Liszt were greeted with the certainty that serious music was being vandalized by their flashy pyrotechnical excess. Even Monteverdi was reviled at the beginning of the 17th century for being overly expressive, his new style an affront to the great Renaissance madrigal tradition.
A great deal of this artistic unrest comes from the conflict of old and new, and the tremendous fear of the unknown or seemingly unintelligible. Consider the tragically poetic statement of Heinrich Schenker, one of the most influential music theorists of the 20th century. In 1910, targeting the compositions of Wagner and the late Romantics, he wrote, “We are witnessing a Herculaneum and Pompeii for music. Musical culture is ravaged. The foundation of music is destroyed. That most dream-like and artful of arts–music–is no more.” When we realize that the artists to whom he referred are now the most beloved composers in the concert hall, it becomes clear that audiences were eventually able to overcome their horror at the challenges of the new Romantic aesthetic. In 1958, composer Milton Babbitt bleakly acknowledged that classical music held little attraction, and that “the general public is largely unaware of and uninterested in music.” Yet many people today would point to the 1950s and 60s as a period of tremendous musical vitality and keen interest.
It may also be constructive for us to realize that somber warnings about the twilight of classical music are nothing new. The eras which appear to foretell the extinguishing of civilization are, in retrospect, often revealed as periods of healthy growth and needed change. Apocalyptic vision can be the mirror image of a nostalgic longing for an irretrievable (and perhaps imaginary) Utopia. While some artists and listeners eagerly embrace the excitement of the frontier, others turn anxiety into anger, shock, and forecasts of doom.
Fifty years before Norman Lebrecht posed his disturbing query–“Who Killed Classical Music?”–Theodore Adorno bemoaned the radio as the root of the crisis. In 1945 he stated, “Today music functions as a commodity, and is consumed like other consumers’ goods. It is the ideal of Aunt Jemima’s ready mix for pancakes extended to the field of music. The listener suspends all intellectual activity and is content with consuming and evaluating it’s gustatory qualities–just as if the music which tasted best were also the best music possible.” In 1753 Jean-Jacques Rousseau had already gloomily predicted the end of the art form: “I find that the further our music advances the more it is actually deteriorating.” Such concerns were not new even then. As far back as 200 A.D., scholars were lamenting the moribund state of the music world. The learned Athenaeus wrote, “In olden times the feeling for nobility was always maintained in music, and retained the orderly beauty appropriate to it. Now music has moved into a state of grave corruption. We will get together, few though we be, and recall what music used to…” Even in 200 A.D., apparently, there was longing for a “golden age” of the past!
Battered by grim prophecies, long struggling against the supposed “barbarians at the gate,” the world of art music has nonetheless managed to survive for a recorded history of over two thousand years. For all the strident cries of the industry Cassandras, serious music perhaps is facing no more life-threatening crises today than it has dealt with over the centuries. We encounter problems today that are endemic to our own 21st century environment, and in actively seeking solutions we are doing our part in developing the art form. Change is the one certainty of our lives, and the challenge of the transformation of our “arts” world is a daunting one for all of us. But rather than pronouncing the last rites over a terminal patient, we may be generating necessary mutations that through the prism of time may help us re-evaluate our period as one of progress and innovation. Each century has seen its own crisis in music, survived it and metamorphosed into the flowering of new, often astonishing artistic achievement.
Perhaps the real truth about our art form lies–not in dismal prognostications–but in the writing of the ancient Greek philosopher Plato: “Music is dazzling, passionate, eternal.” Twenty-five hundred years of performers and listeners, of inspiration and excellence, of enlightened minds and soaring hearts have proven the wisdom of those radiant words.
When exactly was that “golden age”? The only thing about which we can be certain is that the golden age is never the present. In reality, the death of classical music is perhaps its oldest continuing tradition. In 1913, horrified critics foretold that Stravinsky’s ground-breaking “Rite of Spring” would destroy music. Similar claims were made for decades about the works of Richard Wagner, who was branded a moral degenerate. Even earlier, Verdi (whose music is now considered the very heart of the operatic corpus) had been accused of ruining the treasured bel canto style with his dramatic vocal writing. Many music lovers in the early 19th century were terrified of the growing influence of the iconoclastic romanticist Ludwig van Beethoven, blaming his mystifying modern music on his deafness. Instrumental virtuosi such as the now venerated Paganini and Liszt were greeted with the certainty that serious music was being vandalized by their flashy pyrotechnical excess. Even Monteverdi was reviled at the beginning of the 17th century for being overly expressive, his new style an affront to the great Renaissance madrigal tradition.
A great deal of this artistic unrest comes from the conflict of old and new, and the tremendous fear of the unknown or seemingly unintelligible. Consider the tragically poetic statement of Heinrich Schenker, one of the most influential music theorists of the 20th century. In 1910, targeting the compositions of Wagner and the late Romantics, he wrote, “We are witnessing a Herculaneum and Pompeii for music. Musical culture is ravaged. The foundation of music is destroyed. That most dream-like and artful of arts–music–is no more.” When we realize that the artists to whom he referred are now the most beloved composers in the concert hall, it becomes clear that audiences were eventually able to overcome their horror at the challenges of the new Romantic aesthetic. In 1958, composer Milton Babbitt bleakly acknowledged that classical music held little attraction, and that “the general public is largely unaware of and uninterested in music.” Yet many people today would point to the 1950s and 60s as a period of tremendous musical vitality and keen interest.
It may also be constructive for us to realize that somber warnings about the twilight of classical music are nothing new. The eras which appear to foretell the extinguishing of civilization are, in retrospect, often revealed as periods of healthy growth and needed change. Apocalyptic vision can be the mirror image of a nostalgic longing for an irretrievable (and perhaps imaginary) Utopia. While some artists and listeners eagerly embrace the excitement of the frontier, others turn anxiety into anger, shock, and forecasts of doom.
Fifty years before Norman Lebrecht posed his disturbing query–“Who Killed Classical Music?”–Theodore Adorno bemoaned the radio as the root of the crisis. In 1945 he stated, “Today music functions as a commodity, and is consumed like other consumers’ goods. It is the ideal of Aunt Jemima’s ready mix for pancakes extended to the field of music. The listener suspends all intellectual activity and is content with consuming and evaluating it’s gustatory qualities–just as if the music which tasted best were also the best music possible.” In 1753 Jean-Jacques Rousseau had already gloomily predicted the end of the art form: “I find that the further our music advances the more it is actually deteriorating.” Such concerns were not new even then. As far back as 200 A.D., scholars were lamenting the moribund state of the music world. The learned Athenaeus wrote, “In olden times the feeling for nobility was always maintained in music, and retained the orderly beauty appropriate to it. Now music has moved into a state of grave corruption. We will get together, few though we be, and recall what music used to…” Even in 200 A.D., apparently, there was longing for a “golden age” of the past!
Battered by grim prophecies, long struggling against the supposed “barbarians at the gate,” the world of art music has nonetheless managed to survive for a recorded history of over two thousand years. For all the strident cries of the industry Cassandras, serious music perhaps is facing no more life-threatening crises today than it has dealt with over the centuries. We encounter problems today that are endemic to our own 21st century environment, and in actively seeking solutions we are doing our part in developing the art form. Change is the one certainty of our lives, and the challenge of the transformation of our “arts” world is a daunting one for all of us. But rather than pronouncing the last rites over a terminal patient, we may be generating necessary mutations that through the prism of time may help us re-evaluate our period as one of progress and innovation. Each century has seen its own crisis in music, survived it and metamorphosed into the flowering of new, often astonishing artistic achievement.
Perhaps the real truth about our art form lies–not in dismal prognostications–but in the writing of the ancient Greek philosopher Plato: “Music is dazzling, passionate, eternal.” Twenty-five hundred years of performers and listeners, of inspiration and excellence, of enlightened minds and soaring hearts have proven the wisdom of those radiant words.