The charm of forgotten classical music

There is something incredibly charming about lesser-known composers. Most of the classical music we hear are masterpieces. Beethoven 9, Mozart 41 endlessly, so boring! How do we value the worth of these if we do not actually know what was the average? Composers were people too. Most of them are now forgotten, but at the time they wrote music, they were performed, they were decent. Before you start worrying about mediocre music making you mediocre, here is a selection of either charming lesser-known composers producing average-quality classical music, or famous composers' early works that are just nice and following formal conventions, and are thus very relaxing. We don't always need the breakthroughs and the progress etc. There is something horribly narrow-minded about only playing attention to the bits where equillibria broke. Something very modernist. Perhaps there is something anthropological about the excess of available music and the need to ground ourselves in the world (Marc Augé said that, I think, I didn't quite understand, he is not easy to read).

Well, I think listening to average classical music helps us ground ourselves. There are unduly forgotten masterpieces, for sure; but also, listening to a few average symphonies or sonatas, perfectly fitting formal conventions, tropes and clichés of the time just gives some overarching sense of contentment and hope that while all the cracks are filled out with much content, eventually, looking from afar, the picture will become clearer and from the mess we can see that which is truly valuable. In an age of excess (call it supermodernity, if you want, Marc Augé definitely did) and so many daily news it is hard to read and theorise our place in history. Same with music history. Maybe time have contracted, but average classical music gives hope that some things will settle and the core of the structure remains visible in the end. On the other hand, saturation with the very best makes us forget that the not-very-best exists as well; and thus opens up space for the rest of us to try and shape the world a bit.

1) Ignacy Jan Panderewsky - Violin Sonata in A minor


So pretty! Completely romantic, quite unprogressive. But who cares? So satisfyingly excited.

2) Mendelssohn - Symphony No. 1 in C minor



Who doesn't like a good symphony No. 1 in C minor. Very clever, for sure -- but it is exactly what it promises. Just a nice little symphony in C minor, nice sonata forms and all. What's wrong with that? Nothing. Don't overthink.

3) Vanhal - Symphony in D minor



Pure heavy metal!

4) Krommer - Clarinet concerto in E-flat major



This is not really mediocre; it is one of the greatest clarinet concertos probably. Still, it is quite simple, quite unrevolutionary, quite formally conservative. You don't really need to strain yourself. It is just pleasing.

5) Crussel - Clarinet concerto in F minor



Similarly, just really nice!

6) Czerny - Symphony in C minor



Another symphony in C minor! What a nice romantic key - sure, it's C, right in the middle, but it is minor, because it is emotional, and we need the big Sturm und Drang crash in the beginning! (And in the end!) The composer of everyone's favourite Leichte technische Etüden is also a prominent creator of forgotten generic romantic music (in the best-intentioned meaning of the word.)

Truly charming.

Things that make me uncomfortable

A list of things that make me uncomfortable:

• People who think we shouldn't die -- they make me uncomfortable because all of it makes a lot of sense yet they feel so wrong; something about something deeply impossible-seeming about finding happy endings for humanity, for any natural trait taken to the extreme results in something un-human; an intuition that humanity is never in equillibrium and is deeply imperfect and inconsistent by nature; maybe for this very reason artifical intelligence alignment is impossible because no world resulting from artificial superintelligence will be human, no matter if it results in paradise or suffering. Humanity ceases to exist in utopia as much as it does in apocalypse -- humanity is not alienated from its inner consciousness by religion or economics: humanity is the alienation, it exists in the gray spaces never discovered by life before. It will always remain dialectic, for any resolution would be its end. Humanity is cognitive dissonance, humanity is the nonrational. It is matter distinguishing itself from matter. But this is the source of all the beauty as well as all the pain; to save humanity but not save pain is meaningless. That is why utopias will never be attained: utopia is the end, the rise of something not-human. At this point the question is: do we want to save humanity, which is saving suffering as much as joy, so it cannot be an utopia, but a continuation of historical dialectic ad infinitum (however, with possibly more and more power from technology that could end it at any time), or end humanity with transcendence. But if the question is transcendence or extinction, then transcendence must be attained by all, and not just the select few, controlling the means of transcendence. Currently the means of transcendence are produced by economies in which the few control these means. That must be ended before humanity can end. Capitalism must be ended or transcendence will be meaningless. With this I proclaim transcendental Marxism and the "bittersweet ending" of humanity. This is the best we can hope for. The universe holds no utopia for humans, for humans are an intermediate state. The next state must be constructed so that it is capable of utopia. But the transition must be egalitarian. Alternatively, there might be a human utopia in the virtual world -- re-enacting histories of past days with meaning, but without the possibility of real suffering or loss. Maybe that is the best we have. Virtual history, virtual humanity. All of this makes me extremely uncomfortable. Also the fuck did I just say.
• some others

On form

Come with me, traveller, for I can take you on a new journey! Or at least… come, walk with me for a bit. I am also a wanderer – see, my cloak is rugged, my coat is patchy –, on to discover! Discover what, exactly? Not so simple! Of course, it is Truth we claim to seek, but is that so? Many greats sook it yet found none, just became charlatans at best or perpetrators of the worst crimes in history at the worst. What claim do you have, not to Truth, but to difference? For surely, if you search still, you must think you know better, you have something new. If you did not, you would stay put – your cloak could be new, your coat immaculate. Tell me, what is it you really seek, under the banner of “Truth”? That banner we share with many, but what lies within will be different in most every case.

Many great people will be confused by their quest, and will be tempted at every corner to retreat, creating all sorts of externalities: fetishes, strawmen, logic-machines, all in their own image, but really, in dialectic with their unadmitted cravings. These minds identify (correctly) that in the playground of ideas the slide will be broken, the climbing-net will be torn and there will be bare nails sticking out of the deck of the wooden pirate-ship. And if one is to argue for the slide, or the climbing-net or the wooden pirate-ship, and as in the argumentation one is to become these (for it is hard not to become that which one argues for – identity comes from difference, and any difference will tend to be assumed as – or mistaken for! – identity), one must become that which is broken, which is torn and which has dangerous spikes pointing out of it. The craving: to become the argument (this a classical liberal, that a neo-Marxist), the problem: the argument’s faults become our own faults; and in reverse: our own uncertainty endangers the project of the argument! As one becomes what they believe, the temptation to forfeit Truth (as in: true intuition of that which follows) for the relief of finality and consistency grows increasing strong.

And so at this point one will renounce oneself – this frail being they recognise themselves to be cannot stand as the champion of Truth, of the Argument (be it a pirate-ship or the labour theory of value). Come forth, true champion, the academic essay! It will feature my name, but the author is from the Platonic realm: they are cold, they are logical, dispassionate, but most importantly: certain. And the alienation of the author is complete: the fetish, the strawman, the logic-machine is born, the insecurity, the uncertainty, and most tragically: true intuition is gone. Both vulnerability and honest reflection are at most distant ancestors to the content of the Piece, which is to stand all challenges and suffer all the wear and tear of critique. The author – saved; the experiment – run, the frailty continues to exist, suppressed, alienated, denied expression under the tyranny of Form!

And as I am writing this I already worry – whom do I write it for? What will they think? Who am I trying to impress? Who will care about my fragility, my petty struggle, the shaking of my arms as I carry our mutual banner – “Truth”? I can see all the daggers I just offered up on a plate, they are labelled “obscure”, “trivial”, “self-important”, “egotistical.” And the form lays my chest bare and exposed, awaiting the stab. But why can we not have a more honest form than the cold-hearted essay? Why can we not write of the impression of our minds, cast in words the direct negative of the knowledge as-it-exists in our heads? Full of misremembered references, superfluous Hegel-citations, insecure opinions, painful self-awareness. Perhaps we will learn more about what we actually have to say. Let us forget fears of judgement and find a better written form for reflection. Coherence can wait – there is beauty in reality.

So come, traveller, and speak without inhibitions, for I will not judge you – I will love you for your authenticity, for your frailty, for this renouncement of alienation.