I took a lot of flack after suggesting in a previous column that John Cage's super-minimalist 4'33" was one of the greatest pieces of music ever written. Not to be deterred, I'll tackle an even riskier judgment β the most beautiful piece of all.
Of course, one man's grand opera is another's didgeridoo β beauty is an intensely private opinion, wholly dependent upon culture, personality and, above all, memories. Between college and life I spent a summer traveling on a Eurailpass. One dawn, a gorgeous mountain caught my eye in the foothills of the French Alps, so I alighted at the next stop for a day of discovery.
The concert began with one of Beethoven's few clunkers, his slight and tedious Octet , in a dreary performance no one but the local amateurs' parents could possibly have enjoyed.
Courtesy barred escape until the interminable thing ended but then, just as polite applause announced my deliverance, a harp was wheeled out and I was hooked, unable to resist my first chance to hear that gentle monster sprung from its customary lair buried deep within a full orchestra. The formalistic title in the mimeo program sounded forbidding, and I'm sure the rendition was at best routine, but perhaps it was the time and the place or the wine that was cheaper than water β I was utterly enthralled.
My apologies to those who can't fathom the thought of anything French being beautiful nowadays, but we're talking about the permanence of historical culture rather than the shifting tides of political correctness. And even if you want to hold parents guilty for the sins of their great grandchildren, the fastidious Ravel never married and had no offspring. The harp is an amazing instrument with a history stretching to the dawn of recorded civilization. Archeology and ancient art document harps in Persia, Mesopotamia, Greece, Egypt, India and Africa over 5, years ago.
