(Original posted on November 25, 1999)
This time, I’ll focus on “Listen to Classical Music!” by Kyo Mitsutoshi, known for his sharp-tongued criticism. The book’s subtitle is “An Easygoing and Blissful Introductory Book,” but its content is incisive and, I believe, leads to deeper reflections on composition than many mediocre music books.
The author’s perspective on classical music is that it was “a kind of cultural extravagant blooming (or aberrant flourishing) specific to a certain era and region.” He argues that it’s difficult to understand “a certain kind of classical music” without comprehending its origins and purpose.
The reason for this lies in the artistic thought characteristic of 19th-century Europe. In a world where religious authority had been lost due to the French Revolution, people sought to touch “transcendence” (the divine) through “the individual.” This led to art taking on a religious significance.
What had previously been given by religion and was self-evident to people was now re-declared by “the individual.” This was the individual’s approach to “transcendence.” People tried to answer the question “What is the world?” through various works. If we call this activity art, it becomes difficult to think of it as music that can be listened to casually.
Later, a contrary movement emerged, denying transcendence itself. In a materialistic world following the decline of religious authority and the rise of the bourgeoisie, transcendent things were devalued. As the 19th century neared its end, Nietzsche appeared, famous for the phrase “God is dead.” Thus, classical music has this unique and subtle cultural background.
Therefore, the author states that classical music is difficult, and to say it’s simple is irresponsible. It’s not easy for modern people, who often lack a strong religious backbone, to understand classical music with such a background.
Separately, the author posits that “there are two types of beauty,” citing “empathetic beauty” and “abstract beauty.” His straightforward explanation of this is something that seemed to be missing until now and is very insightful.
He then explains that what resonates with the awe one feels for nature (mountains, rivers, plants, and trees) or for overwhelmingly large artificial structures is “abstract beauty,” and that this can also be obtained through music. He also points out that a characteristic of feeling abstract beauty is a sentiment towards something transcending humanity. It seems the author argues that this is what leads to art taking on religious meaning.
The author then develops his argument by citing a selection of carefully chosen pieces. He concludes that “symmetry,” “balance,” and “repetition” are crucial elements that evoke “abstract beauty,” and that the pinnacle of the fusion of these elements with the cultural characteristics of Europe at the time – “dualism,” “dialectics,” and “eschatology” – was Bruckner’s symphonies, which also marked the end of classical music. I urge you to read this section for yourself.
Understanding this book, I believe, reveals a certain stance on composition. Individuals will likely have various impressions regarding it. It might also change one’s perspective on the theory of musical forms (Formlehre). A new understanding of sonata form might emerge. However, setting aside such minor details, one arrives at the thought that it is nearly impossible for us, in modern Japan, to create classical music of this nature.
We might be able to imitate the form. We might even be able to impress listeners. But can we possess the same kind of spirit in its innermost core as the composers of that era? I have tried, but I feel that my attempts result in pieces that are mere imitations of form. Is it because they lack the intensity and vigor that come from an inherent necessity to be that way? What I can say is that I am not a 19th-century European.
If the vast world of music is shaped by the act of composition and the sensibility of the listener, then perhaps there is a domain within that world that can no longer be newly touched. I believe this is because there is “something” there that cannot be dismissed simply as being from a bygone era.
At the beginning, the author states, “Classical music is already mostly dead.” The meaning of this becomes clear as you read through the book sequentially. It makes one acutely aware of the difficulty of imagining the raw reality of another’s “act of composition,” and naturally, one’s gaze turns to one’s own composing. The author’s witty yet stimulating writing is packed with challenging “catalysts.”
As an aside, the illustrations, done by the author himself, add a nice touch.
