A Word on Classical Music

What an art form!

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Dear Bolu,

First a disclaimer: the title of this letter erroneously suggests that this text contains only one word on classical music. But as you might already have noticed, there are more than a few words herein. The title is in no way meant to deceive you or lure you into thinking that this letter is only one word long. That would be pathetic! It just happens that the world thinks it's okaay for people to say phrases like, "I want to have a word with you" or "I want to say a word of prayer" and no one bats an eyelid when they go on to say more than one word. So allow me to borrow this particular idiosyncrasy of man. Don't mind the title—I actually meantersay more than a few words on classical music.

They say music is universal. I don't quite agree with that statement because I believe that if the word, "universal" derives from "universe", then it should describe things that permeate the cosmos. And I don't think La Vie En Rose or The Ballad of Cleopatra have been played or listened to on planets other than ours. Nevertheless, I take the point. Music is far-reaching. Global. Diverse in its manifestations and capable of resonating with the core of our souls.

One of music's many manifestations is Classical Music and it needs no introduction. You have heard it in some form or the other, say in the opening theme of Barbie in the Nutcracker, as the musical score of a movie, as a ringtone, as part of a theater performance, and as many other things. Sometimes it comes without words and you are simply treated to the delightful harmony of an orchestra. Other times, it is accompanied by some language other than the plucking of strings—say English, Latin, or idioglossia as in Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerard's Gladiator score. I'm usually more captivated by the former; the wordless maneuvering of instruments to produce a magical performance.

Photo by Marius Masalar on Unsplash

I believe that my adoration for lyrics-free classical music (or perhaps lyrics-free music in general) comes from a place of deep and profound respect for the art form and the composers that engender it. I've never been able to comprehend how such pieces of music get written. Yes, it is for me and the audience to enjoy and not necessarily understand, and I appreciate that fact. But I still can't help but marvel at its conceptualization. It doesn't clearly occur to me how it's written. I suppose composers and musicians get trained to make music and practice to hone this skill, but I can't quite comprehend how it's done.

For the writer—of prose, poetry, hymns, sermons, and whatnot, he has but to think about the message he wants to convey. In answering the question; "what am I trying to say?", he is able to piece words together to achieve this goal. There is still the matter of style, wordplay, figures of speech, punctuation, tonality, etc. But what he needs to do seems somewhat evident. What I've said so far is very reductionist in nature but that's just what it is.

Similarly, for the artist with the brush or pencil, she needs only visualize what she intends to paint or draw and trust her hands to execute it. She could take inspiration from a scene before her, her memory, or the ether. She still has to consider other components of her artwork like color and color intensity, a suitable canvas and brush, the form of the art itself, and so on. Reductionist again, I know, but it is easy to see how one can think up imagery and attempt to recreate it physically.

For both the writer and the artist, I'm not making light, the demands of their art forms. It is nowhere near as easy as I have written or painted it out to be. But I believe that one can relatably and fairly easily chart the path from ideation to execution for both forms.

For music composers, however, I find it difficult to chart such a path. How do they compose and write music? For one, is it possible to visualize music as musical notes? I find it impossible to do. Do they find inspiration from buzzing bees or cascading waterfalls? Do they go like, "I want to make sad music", and hum different notes till it makes sense? Perhaps there is a way to go about it for folks with a trained mind who have ears for music, but I don't see it. I can't see it. Maybe there's a book that documents all they need to know to make music. There is some science and art to it for sure, but it's beyond my reach. So I marvel.

Although it's hard to conceptualize the process involved in composing lyrics-free music, the product and end result of it all is often easily understood. You are left with no doubt on how or what to feel about a performance. You can tell if it is a sad, somber rendition or a gay, happy one. It could draw you into a state of thoughtful melancholy. It could transport you to the blissful memory of your past self. A time you loved. A time you cried. It could make you want to share a dance with another, never minding your visibly deficient dancing skills.

No matter, the beauty of wordless classical music is, for me, its ability to make us feel a particular emotion or set of emotions without a word. When we listen to songs, we are often persuaded to think a certain way by the lyrics. "His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy...". The message is heavily embodied in the lyrics. There is some wisdom to be gleaned there, a love confession, an admission of guilt or insecurity, a sermon to be found, or sometimes—and perhaps quite a lot—meaningless stuff. We need all of these from music, yes, but we also need lyrics-free music sometimes and that's what compositions tend to offer.

Photo by Wan San Yip on Unsplash

Music that contains only instrumentals doesn't tell you what to think. There is no persuasion as such, no double entendre, no lip-syncing, no auto-tune, no diss, no praise, no over-ambitious bathroom vocals, nothing. There's just sound—beautiful sound—and you can vibe to and flow with it. There's nothing to sing to but you feel it. It doesn't promise enlightenment or some nugget you can inscribe on marble but in it, you can find some sense of calm and serenity. It amazes me how the plucking of a few strings—one before the other, some repetitively and others, never, some in haste and others less so, some with noticeable force and others ever so gently—can create moods and meditations to different degrees within us. It's great. And while people are often wont to say, "words are not even enough to describe...", I think that sometimes, as in the case with music, words may not be needed at all.

We should all listen to classical music. Of course, there is a place and time for it and it is hardly suitable for nightclub settings or modern teenage parties. But we should listen sometimes. We should. And I suppose there's a tendency to view listeners of such music as people who think they are better or more sophisticated than the rest. Whether that's because of the "class" in “classical music” or not, I'm not so sure. But I think otherwise. I like to think that listeners of classical music seek what every other person seeks in music; comfort, connection, fascination. And it needn't strictly be classical music. A score, a piano rendition, a guitar solo, a violin duet—anything, anything you can't exactly sing to. There is some pleasure to be derived from such art forms more so when one is alone and accompanied only by one's thoughts. It's an exercise I think we should all indulge in, dear friend. Oh, and if I were to actually say a word on classical music as the title of this letter suggests, it would be Yes!

Fin.

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Write you soon, merci !

- Wolemercy

*Cover art by Josep Molina Secall on Unsplash