|
Patsy Davenport heard my Folkways record. She said, “When
the story came about my asking you how you felt about Bach, I
could remember everything perfectly clearly, sharply, as
though I were living through it again. Tell me, what did you
answer? How do you feel about Bach?” I said I didn’t
remember what I’d said — that I’d been nonplused. Then,
as usual, when the next day came, I got to thinking.
Giving up Beethoven, the emotional climaxes and all, is
fairly simple for an American. But giving up Bach is more
difficult. Bach’s music suggests order and glorifies for
those who hear it their regard for order, which in their lives
is expressed by daily jobs nine to five and the appliances with
which they surround themselves and which, when plugged in, God
willing, work. Some people say that art should be an
instance of order so that it will save them momentarily from the
chaos that they know is just around the corner. Jazz is
equivalent to Bach (steady beat, dependable motor), and the
love of Bach is generally coupled with the love of jazz. Jazz
is more seductive, less moralistic than Bach. It popularizes
the pleasures and pains of the physical life, whereas Bach is close
to church and all that. Knowing as we do that so many jazz
musicians stay up to all hours and even take dope, we permit
ourselves to become, sympathetically at least, junkies and
night owls ourselves: by participation mystique. Giving
up Bach, jazz, and order is difficult. Patsy
Davenport is right. It’s a very serious question. For what
if we do it — give them up, that is — what do we have left?
|