By Michael Shook
The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche is perhaps most famous among the general public for his statement “God is dead.” He also wrote, “Without music, life would be a mistake.”
In contrast, the author Kurt Vonnegut once remarked, “Music is to me proof of the existence of God.” I think Vonnegut would agree with Nietzsche that, indeed, life would be, if not a mistake, then unbearably dreary without music. Even if the two disagreed about the existence of a Supreme Being.
Music has a power that is almost unfathomable, a singular ability to reach places within the human psyche that nothing, save poetry, can touch likewise. But poetry still requires some sort of intellectualism, a thinking process of listening, to be deeply absorbed. Music requires nothing but a functioning ear.
Via the gift of my parents’ musicality – the old man’s rich baritone voice was regularly heard in the house, and ma was a trained actress and vocalist (accomplishments mostly set to the side after my siblings and I arrived) – I took to singing naturally, likewise to music generally.
For a present one year – late grade school, I think – I was given a copy of Leonard Bernstein conducting Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, with Schubert’s 8th unfinished to fill out the album. That was soon followed by a collection of Baroque masterpieces, from the Nonesuch Records label.
I wore out both records, even as I entered adolescence and embraced the popular music of my day. I count myself fortunate that radio stations at that time played a delicious mash-up of music. On the same station one could hear, sequentially, Frank Sinatra, Joni Mitchell, Ray Charles, Jimi Hendrix, and The Beach Boys.
I loved all of it, but especially Beethoven. His music encompasses the full depth and breadth of human experience, of what it is to be human. Is that too much for music to carry? I think not. Music bears its burden lightly. And when depression, a churlish companion for much of my life, crowded too close, I would turn almost exclusively to Ludwig for compassionate, uplifting solace.
Thus I would sit, lights dimmed, and let myself be carried away by the Moonlight Sonata, or the Emperor’s Concerto – the second movement is one of the most beautiful human creations of all time; likewise the third movement of the Ninth Symphony. And well before the last notes faded, I would feel that, yes, life IS good. I will keep on. And not just keep on, but will embrace the whole experience.
The balm that was such music made life, in all its devastating power, livable, full of promise again. Music confirmed and reaffirmed to me that, while indeed life had a terror that was sometimes overwhelming, no less so did it contain astonishing beauty, and the joy inherent in simply being alive. I would side with Vonnegut, that music is proof of the existence of God. Not that I wish to argue with Nietzsche, or anyone else about God’s existence – a fool’s errand at best.
Of late, I’ve been listening to a wonderful recording of J. S. Bach’s violin concertos, performed by Julia Fischer, with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. It’s a 2009 recording, but I only recently discovered it. For those unfamiliar with Ms. Fischer, she was quite the prodigy, winning the Yehudi Menuhin Competition when she was all of 11, playing (what else?) Bach. She’s gone on to a rich and acclaimed career, and hopefully we will hear her violin for many more years.
This particular recording is beautifully expressive. Her playing is, of course, technically brilliant, as one would expect. Though she is the soloist, she nevertheless conveys a seamless unity, a marvelous and graceful ease, with the accompanying ensemble. It captures the best elements of music.
Most important is the joy with which she plays. Her superlative technical facility allows the music to flow as naturally as one might breathe, and is completely in the service of bringing to life all that Bach wrote. Nowhere is this more evident than in the second piece on the CD, the Concerto in A minor. The tempo is quicker than some recordings I’ve heard of the same piece, but not to any deleterious effect. In fact, just the opposite. There is a liveliness to the first and third allegro movements that make one smile, or laugh, or dance, as the notes slip forth like water splashing down a sparkling brook. And the second movement, the andante, is sonorous and round, with weight, but never ploddingly so. It is gently serious, like walking within an old but thriving forest.
Fond as I am of my “longhair” music, I also take care to not neglect my other musical friends: Irish, Greek, and East European dance club (with plenty of accordion!); Charles Mingus and Chet Baker; Merle Haggard, Chet Atkins, and Patsy Cline.
Artists from all over the geographic and musical maps are “the cream in my coffee, the salt in my stew.” And while classical music and jazz speak to my older, more experienced self, rock-and-roll holds its own special place. Frankly speaking, it is the music of sex, and central to the natural obsession youngsters have with that fraught venture (or so it was for me).
Every so often, recalling my youth as I putter around out in the garage, I will crank up something like AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill,” or the Stones “Satisfaction.” I close my eyes and I’m once again blasting up highway 410 from Enumclaw to Chinook pass, full throttle, on my old Norton Commando.
Ah, music.
