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.
