Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
A sight for sore ears
A good friend recently made a strange request of me, asking if I could possibly hang out with him and teach him some of the basics of classical music. He being an old-time rock n'roll sort, I was a little taken aback. Upon further investigation, I discovered that he wanted to learn more about “my music”, as he called it, for a role he has in an upcoming play. I like to keep semi-informed of the classical concert scene in the Big Smoke, and had been interested in a performance of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 that was being performed by the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by none other than Lorin Maazel. I managed to get two extremely cheap tickets to the event, and called my friend, telling him he had a date with Beethoven on Saturday evening.
He had all kinds of stuff to learn. First I had to coach him on how to properly say Mozart's name. "Mote-zart", not "Moe-zart". Then a lesson on how to roll the “ch” sound in the back of his throat to pronounce Sergei Rachmaninoff's name properly. The speech lessons were necessary as he has to say both names in a monologue expounding the wonders and virtues of classical music. I explained what a symphony was, how it was structured, how many movements it contained - all the important information I thought necessary. He was with me on all that, and somewhat interested, but his eyes kind of glazed over when I started talking in more detail about sonata form and the intricacies of key modulations. I decided to contain myself and let the beauty of the music win him over, forgoing the theory lesson. I had to beg forgiveness for my passionate verboseness; I didn't know how to make him understand that "my music" was as much a part of my being as my blood and bones, and that I tend to get a little excited when sharing it with a captive audience. Similar reactions sometimes come from my piano students. I love nothing more than telling the story behind a piece of music they may have heard a hundred times before, but never really listened to. I can spend whole lessons on Haydn's “Surprise Symphony”, delighting in the way a child jumps when the sudden punch of sound startles them, just as it startled Haydn's audience.
The frightened looks my friend was giving me during our drive to the concert only reminded me of the feeling I often get when listening to "classical" music, especially in the presence of others - I'm a dinosaur, an old-timer, one of the few left who even knows there's a classical music station on the radio. A music snob.
Walking into the concert venue changed my view completely. Here I was, surrounded by thousands of other music snobs, people who also thought Beethoven was cool enough to spend a gorgeous summer Saturday evening with. There may have been a few exceptions, such as the fellow sitting in front of me who was sending texts to a chum, and when asked where he was, replied that his girlfriend had “dragged him to some symphony thing”, to which his friend responded “Good - get some culture into ya!”(I'm not making that up, I read the entire conversation over his shoulder.)
Although I delighted in the numbers that came out to what proved to be a stellar, moving performance, I am still saddened that classical music still has a stigma attached to it. When did it become so hi-brow? Why is it seen as “culture”, whereas a Lady Gaga concert is seen more as a cultural phenomenon? Beethoven was like a rock star in his day. Abuse, torment from a disability, overcoming all the obstacles, unrequited love - surely The Enquirer would have jumped all over him and his seemingly pathetic life. Franz Liszt - anyone know exactly how many lovers he had? Wouldn't In Touch magazine have been all over that? I find it sadly amusing that these amazing individuals, who didn't have the exposure or the technology that we take for granted nowadays, created such works of aural art that have lasted through the ages, yet their music still remains so inaccessible to so many people. Like my friend. Perhaps he grew up in a home in which music wasn't really important. Music surrounded me right from birth. My parents always had a radio on, or an 8-track in, or a record playing. I grew up loving all kinds of music, developing an ear that would discern what it likes to hear - don't narrow me down to a style or a genre - I like all kinds of pieces in just about every genre known to mankind (save a few, but I won't go into that). Classical music is at the base of it all - without it, we wouldn't have all the other music we now know and enjoy. Whenever I get tired of listening to the words in songs, or the thump-thump of dance music, or my kids fighting, I listen to classical music. It calms my soul like nothing else. Old jazz has a similar effect. I can't fall asleep to it, though - I find myself listening too intently to it - the different layers, the colours in the music, creating a story to go with the sounds. I often wish the whole world could know the peace I feel when enveloped in these sounds. Who knows where we'd all be!
I forgot the world existed while listening to the Ode to Joy on Saturday night. And, despite my impassioned ramblings, I think my friend enjoyed himself too. I told him there would be a test at the end, and he passed with flying colours. He may just be able to pull off the music snob character in his show, and even pronounce the names correctly. If he's really brave, he'll ask to go to another concert! I'll happily accompany him, if only to see from the people in attendance that dead guys can still pull in the crowds.
