WHAT IS CLASSICAL MUSIC, AND WHY SHOULD I CARE?

Remember when your grade school English teacher warned you not to choose too broad a thesis topic? That’s what the above question is like—you can’t answer it in one essay—or even in several. It’s like “what is the meaning of life,” or “is there a Supreme Being?” Even if given a straightforward answer, would you readily believe it?

Perhaps the question is unanswerable. And yet, it is the reason for this blog—because I believe that classical music is important enough that the question needs asking, regardless of the answer. So I plan to write on various topics from time to time, with that question always lingering in the background. Today’s topic: Gounod.

I’m writing about him because the orchestra I conduct, the Symphony of the Greater Twin Cities Youth Symphonies in Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota, is playing the ballet music from his opera Faust (premiered in 1859) at our November 23 concert. Just the music—no dancers in sight. Why Gounod? His music is fascinatingly controversial. It has its loving adherents (French opera fans) and detractors (most other humans). Is he a great composer, or a hack cranking out superficial Gallic fluff? Consider how he compares to other great composers: even those with little knowledge of classical music know Beethoven’s name, have heard at least some of his Fifth Symphony, and generally say, “this is impressive stuff.” That’s not true for Gounod—one of his weaknesses—or perhaps it’s a strength—is that his music’s success rests on more variables than does Beethoven’s.

An uninitiated person can listen to Beethoven and “get it”—he can even listen to a bad performance and get it. In the case of Gounod, however, the performance has to be convincing, and one needs to know more about the music’s context. Now, the thought of having to think and learn about music may cause horror to some dear readers, but if people aren’t willing to do it, then classical music withers away. A vacuum results, and since Mother Nature abhors a vacuum, it gets filled by musical garbage. (Perhaps this is one possible answer to the overriding question behind this blog).

Let me give a little context for the ballet music we’re performing on November 23. What is the opera Faust about? Many of you have some concept of that name. To make a Faustian bargain means selling your soul in order to get something you think you can’t live without. There was a real Faust in Renaissance Germany, whose persona inspired stories and plays by various artists over the centuries, and continues to captivate today. The most famous characterization is the play/poem by Goethe (1808), in which the highly learned but bored Dr. Faustus sells his soul in return for bliss. This causes tremendous problems for those around him (such as death, destruction and dishonor), though ultimately he receives divine clemency. In Gounod’s opera, Faust makes a pact with the Dark Side because he despairs of both worldly knowledge and religious faith. Isn’t this an issue that people struggle with constantly? Haven’t they always done so? Doesn’t this idea transcend age, class and ethnicity?

At the time Gounod wrote Faust, all works staged at the Paris Opera were expected to include a ballet. He wrote one into the beginning of the fifth act, a Walpurgis Night scene. What’s Walpurgis Night? OK, I’ll tell you a bit about it, if in return someone out there tells me why the Paris Opera required ballets—I don’t have time to look it up.

Walpurgis Night (April 30/May 1) has its origins in European spring celebrations that predate Christianity. It gets its name from the transfer of the remains of St. Walpurga of Devon on that date in 779. In other words, it blends Catholicism and Paganism—a potent mix. It’s celebrated by traditional Catholics and by people who are the opposite. Long ago adapted into the political calendar of the left (think May Day in Soviet-era Moscow), it’s now also associated with the right in certain countries (such as Finland). In Germany (where Faust takes place) witches gather in the mountains to celebrate spring on Walpurgis Night. (One interesting side-note: Germany’s worst leader ever did himself in at Walpurgis-time in 1945.) Is Walpurgis Night a joyful or nefarious occasion, or a little of both? Are we attracted or repelled by it? Walpurgis Night, like the Faust character, speaks to something in our complicated, conflicted characters. Gounod tapped into this when he wrote his opera.

Here is a link to the ballet. The dances have catchy tunes; the listener might hum them when leaving the concert hall. That sure isn’t the case with Beethoven. Think back to that Fifth Symphony: it’s got a very recognizable four-note idea (da-da-da-DUUUM), but that’s not a tune you’d whistle when walking down the street. Beethoven develops the four-note idea in a hundred different ways—he has to in order to give that motive depth. Gounod writes great melodies, and doesn’t develop them. So what gives the music depth? The story behind it, and the way it’s played. It’s the performer’s role to highlight the varying tone colors, phrasing, dynamics and so forth. This variety—this array of contrasts—is what makes Gounod’s music “tick.” It parallels the contrasts within peoples’ personas. We hope to convey some of that contrast on November 23.

Thank you for reading my first-ever blog entry. I invite your response, whether you consider yourself a music connoisseur or a novice.