In Moscow, at the very end of the street where I lived, there was a conservatory. I was taken to the concerts every once in a while, but being of that insufficient age of four, they barely made an impression on me. By the time I returned to England, to me there was merely pop, and the like.
A few years past my first decade, I set myself the task of diversifying my phone playlists for those impossibly long car journeys. Cringed by an endless tirade of love-infested lyrics about girls stuffing their faces with drugs, I thought back to a film where I enjoyed a dark-sounding piece for piano, more commonly known as the Moonlight Sonata. Although the track I found was only the first minute-twenty on a loop with strings in the background, within it I heard character, an incomprehensible depth of pain and tenderness, and – al though probably about love – it lacked the connotations of cocaine.
I was determined to play it, and spurred on by un-pushy music classes at school, committed to have the whole thing under my belt within a week. I failed, but nonetheless took great pleasure in belting out the first six-or-so bars. I procured a music teacher who unfortunately made no efforts to have me read music, or in fact make me aware that there was even such a thing. In the time between lessons I was chained to those first six bars, and a few in-lesson-memorised scraps.
The solution was simple: I would write my own music – far better than this Beethoven hack, and having become acquainted with it while writing, play the thing back with ease. I did, and something happened: I began to see this 18th-century figure in a new light. His works suddenly became digestible; patterns which had seemed random fell into tidy place, and each constellation of notes was gradually entrenched by meaning. Without understanding, anyone can appreciate the general prettiness of a tune but fall far short of its heart.
A whole new world opened to me, like a forest if you will, neatly resting into groves of Mozart or Roussel or Tchaikovsky or Weber. It took me a certain amount of time to hack a clear path through from which to admire the Western canon, but oh was it worth it! Music is very much a part of my life now, responsible for a great portion of my comfort and excitement. And since, I have journeyed into the less clear realms of jazz and ‘world music’, each nourishing me with a new sense wonder.
Music is a thing worthy of an introduction to all. It should not be forced, as although for me the foot in the door was classical, others will have their own preferences. It has been a while since I first dipped my toe in the waters, yet I am far from finished exploring.
Self-portrait by Noah
