Is Classical Music the Only Way?

I like to think I know a lot about music. I grew up with it. My parents met and fell in love in high school band (yes, they were band geeks) and later took careers in music and the arts: my dad in classical radio and then public broadcasting, my mom as a professional oboist. They raised me with music very much in the forefront of consciousness.

I remember waking on weekend mornings to Bach and Chopin filling the living room from the stereo speakers or my mom's Baldwin piano. I remember answering the door for other children (sometimes some of my classmates) carrying plastic oboes in little wooden cases. I remember being forced to take piano lessons in first grade, but hating the convent where I had to go, and feeling vaguely cheated since I didn't choose it. It wasn't until I picked up the violin in fifth grade that I discovered the joy of making music, and I continued with it for over ten years.

Naturally, my mom was overjoyed, and she quickly gave me a big head about the choice I'd made. She'd give me a musician-to-musician insider smile and say things like: "You know music will raise your math and reading scores. It takes advantage of your whole brain, like nothing else!" Or: "Music is the answer to everything. It is the best of humanity, and it crosses all boundaries."

In short, I was encouraged to believe that music made me smarter, happier, and even wiser than the average Jane. I had made the Right Choice, and I should always keep music close to me. What a message for a 10-year-old!

Fast forward 16 years, and I no longer own a violin. I haven't touched one in 6 years, because I sold it after college to buy a new computer. My mom works hard to hide her disappointment, and constantly drops hints about joining a community orchestra. She still talks about my musical skill with wistful nostalgia - and complete confidence that I'll return to it someday. Maybe I will. But I also feel like I can appreciate music without playing the violin, and even without listening exclusively to classical.

What is it about classical music that gives it such preeminence in the intellectual world? Is it really the One and Only, the Boss of all music? When Jourdain talks about analyzing music - picking apart its melody, harmony, rhythm, meter, and phrasing - I get the distinct feeling he's discussing classical music at the exclusion of everything else. "Expert listening requires expert music," he declares, "Music that is painstakingly invented is quite different from popular genres that make no attempt at relational depth and consist mostly of moment-to-moment variations on a simple theme. The brain cannot know the pleasures of deep relations when there are none to be observed" (Jourdain 266). Does that really mean that all that is popular isn't painstaking - is inexpert? That my choice to listen to rock on the radio is stifling my brain?

I think of this year's Grammy winners, Arcade Fire, who composed a whole album on a few universal themes: growing up, leaving home, experiencing the changes in love and communication that come with both. They wrote 16 tracks that experiment with these themes in different styles - sometimes with the same lyrics - and they certainly take advantage of varied rhythm and phrasing, those musical surprises Jourdain prizes so much. They're also brilliant with multimedia. It's probable that all their attention and acclaim for "The Suburbs" came from their release of the first single, "We Used to Wait," as an HTML5 video that can be personalized for the user. I have to say I was enthralled.

Then there's that perennially heady band, Radiohead. Take a listen to "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi" and say there isn't some interesting rythm and chord succession going on. (If you're familiar with music terminology, "arpeggio" means to play the tones of a chord in rapid succession rather than all at once). I was even inspired by a song that I got as a free download from (of all places) Starbucks, called "In the Dirt" by S. Carey. Neither of these songs has an overriding (or even particularly memorable) melody; rather, they work hard to create an ethereal musical texture to sit and contemplate. I wonder if Jourdain has ever heard these; if he'd dismiss them so easily just because they're popular.

Something else my mom always said to me was that Mozart was a "rock star" of his time. Considering his genius (which I won't argue), and the lack of many competing figures, this isn't hard to believe. I'm sure I would have been something of a groupie in the 18th century, but in the 21st, I'm not. There are plenty of other rock stars to command my attention and respect now, and they do absolutely get just as much of both from me as do Chopin or Beethoven. I love classical and rock. There is no boss of music.

Jourdain, Robert. Music, the Brain, and Ecstasy: How Music Captures Our Imagination. NY: William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1997: 236-268.