If It Ain’t Baroque ...

Whenever I see the title of JS Bach’s “Air on the G String”, all I can think is how chilly it must feel.

If the radio is set to a baroque station, I know that Ter has been ironing. This cracks me up because ... actually, I’m not sure why it’s so funny, but her choice of laundry music does make me smile.

This is how seriously I perceive the music of my favourite century. Despite my fondness for the 1600s, it seems I don’t much care for the tuneage of the time. I don’t mind it, of course, but I won’t play it myself unless I’m writing a piece relevant to the period. Strangely enough, the soundtrack for “Versailles” isn’t reflective of the century, either. It smacks more of present day Ibiza than baroque Europe (though I’d probably get the CD anyway, even if it was crammed with Bach, Handel and a Hallelujah Host of Others).

Baroque music makes for good ambient noise, however. One of my cultured co-workers (she plays both classical guitar and Celtic harp—the talent pool at work is proof that there’s no money to be made in the arts) has a radio in her cubicle. Wedged between offices as she is, and placed on a high traffic corner, she finds it easier to concentrate on her job if Seattle’s National Public Radio is playing in the background. On a crazy day in any workweek, I’ll speed from my office, where the playlist ranges from classic Motown to cool jazz to 70s rock, and be rushing to the copy room when the lilting strains of a baroque violin will stop me in my tracks. Sometimes, I’ll even drop into my co-worker’s guest chair. When she looks inquiringly at me, I’ll say, “Just taking a civility break.”

Such music may be that which was claimed to soothe the savage breast. It certainly calms me in the midst of a hectic workday. It inspires images of perfectly aligned gardens, fashionable ladies and stylish gentlemen, all well-mannered and treating each other so cordially that it’s almost offensive. Better times and better men, yes?

Heck, no. The French Revolution might not have happened had the aristocracy been as elegant and ordered as the music of the day. Perhaps it’s merely an example of paradox sprung from a composer’s will to hide the truth of society at the time. Art these days is a more accurate reflection of where we’re at—a film parade of serial killers, political extremists, spies, renegades in fast cars, and superheroes sworn to save us from annihilating ourselves; music from angry children grown into angry adults, and underage girls shaking their collective booty as if a show of skin is empowering. Culture these days isn’t terribly cultured at all. Between the honesty in present day art and the hypocrisy in baroque composition, that civility break looks pretty darned good.