Bach on the Eve of the Transplant

I wrote before about how I know nothing about Greek music. That is true. I know almost as little about the realm of classical music. Don't get me wrong--I've listened extensively to Bach's Brandenburg Concertos and his complete harpsichord pieces, as well as Shostakovich and Mozart and all of what you'd expect me to say. But that's the thing, though: I've only listened. In White Men Can't Jump lingo, I've listened but not heard.

Earlier, I was watching House (like I do), but I was truly transfixed by one of the patients playing a Dvorak concerto. I'm not sure if it actually was a Dvorak piece, but I was stunned nonetheless, and was moved enough to listen to Bach's cello suites. I actually had these in my iTunes already, but, again, I had listened but not heard.

As you might be able to guess, I'm in a plaintive mood. Tomorrow's the big stem cell transplant day, and I have decided to relax. Usually, this would mean some Astral Weeks by Van Morrison or even some Magic & Loss or something else by Lou Reed, but I've decided to retreat to classical music, and Bach in particular.

In college, I wrote extensively about the transformational powers of popular music, and I still stand by Lou Reed's credo, that "I was made for rock 'n' roll." Lest we forget, though, in his terrific song "Women", he sings the line, "play a little Bach for us, and then we make love." Plus, we mustn't forget that Reed, although he may plead ignorance and at times assert cool passivity toward certain classical music, is actually well versed in the sweeping constraints--not an oxymoron--of it. You need only listen to Street Hassle's "Street Hassle," and I think the point is made.

Occasionally, often even, I'll shrug off classical music as a pretentious staple of academia. I'm not totally wrong in thinking this, but I would be a liar if I didn't say that some of it is really mesmerizing. As I listen now to Bach, I almost feel myself slipping into such pompous reverie. This is the problem with music journalism. One feels that one has to adopt an attitude and stick with it. You can't alter your pose, or else you might lose some bullshit street-cred that you think you've amassed, either with regard to pop or even classical. One posture is snotty and the other is snooty. The two ethos actually sprout from the same stance of blind idiocy.

The truth is, though, that there comes a time when beauty cannot be denied. In the same way, you don't have to sneer at classical music for the sake of rock. Three chords may be all you need, but arpeggios sometimes add that certain something that's missing. Like a pinch of paprika can make all the difference in a messy dish, a touch of cello can enliven a previously dead array of notes. I think we can all agree that Bach's Brandenburg Concertos translate into absolute bliss. If you take a closer look inside his oeuvre, or "cookbook," I promise you that more wonder lies underneath. And don't say you're bored, because you'll then be a real boor.

So shake off the attitude, get a little more receptive, and rock with some Bach, not unlike Falco did with Mozart. I'll do the same, and revel in the washes of his Cello Suites.

If you're not up to the challenge, then go fuck yourself. See--I can still strike a pose with the best of 'em.

R
--If you are not watching President Barack Obama on Letterman right now, you should be pummeled. If you can't, catch it later.