In my old age I have learned to guard against a counterproductive tendency; swamping myself with worthy reading.
Johnathan Franzen in his essay "Why Bother" identifies three types of book readers (he thinks he's naming two, but they are all distinct): The first type is a reader who reads because it is the "done thing." More prevalent on the East Coast, according to Franzen at least, these people read for the same reason they might horseback ride or attend Andover. Class plays a role.
Next, a Midwestern type, reads to know that they are doing something profitable with their free time. Your good old protestant/puritan work-ethic and pleasure-guilt is likely at work here. The Creator frowns upon not taking up every possible free moment with toil. Enjoy oneself instead? No. Shame.
The third is the "social isolate" or put more simply, "nerd who likes to read."
I believe I am an unhealthy balance of all three. These three voices compel me to embark on oceans of worthy reading. Ancient classics, historical books, political thought, philosophy, postmodern fiction. Because I can read them, I should read them. Some of these books while indeed being worthy are also, let's not kid ourselves, a drag to read. So, as I flag with one book, I pick up another then that one starts to bog down etc etc until I sit sullenly watching television with a pile of Ovid, Kierkegaard and Pynchon glaring at me from the book case. On my vast sea, I am becalmed. I would know I had done it again when you might ask what I was reading and I would recite a litany of 1/5th read books that would ring very pompous.
Athough maybe I do this because embracing worthy music has paid consistent dividends.
When I was a young teenager I inherited a box of classical cassette tapes from my father. My father had played classical lps in the house as I was growing up and always listened to the classical station. As a little boy I found most of this music dull, except for a few pyrotechnical pieces with very clear themes. Beethoven's 5th, 6th etc. But I was exposed to it and that probably made the difference.
Laboring under the same troika of impulses, I forced myself to listen to the tapes that contained unknown works. After systematically wading though them few times, the music began to unfold and make sense. I think I was aware of what counterpoint was but one day one of these recordings knocked me off my feet. It was Bach's Brandenburg Concertos as recorded by the Los Angeles Philharmonic and conducted by the violinist Pichas Zukerman. What made these recordings different was in their mixing. They were mixed very dry (no reverb or echo) and hard panned (instruments with different lines very distinctly in one stereo channel or the other). The result, rather than highlighting the way they blended, allowed the listener to hear how the lines were distinct and yet, miraculously, complimented each other.
Every recording I had heard of the concertos prior to that sounded as though they were recorded in a airplane hanger. This gave them an bustling to absurdly busy homophonic (chordal) sound. Probably not what J.S. intended at all.
I am pretty sure it was this recording. I remember it was a pair of blue cassettes, long since lost. Deutsche Grammophone, I think. But I am relying on a 20+ years memory. It took a bit of research to hunt down a new copy. A brand new cd of concertos 1-3 runs around $120. Yikes! Somebody certainly thinks these are worth hearing. Used copies are more reasonably priced. When they arrive, I'll let you know if they still sound the same.
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