Why
is Bach a Great Composer?
I
once mentioned to my father that I was studying some of BachÕs keyboard works.
His reply was: ŅOh, Bach—heÕs the guy who makes you pat your head and rub
your stomach at the same time, isnÕt he?Ó I managed to dodge an argument by
reminding myself ix-nay on the arcasm-say.
Instead I responded, perhaps a little too
quietly, ŅWell, Dad, thereÕs a lot more to Bach than thatÓ and changed the
subject as quickly as possible.
Funny
that my first reaction to my dadÕs inoffensive but glib remark would be
irritation. It wasnÕt the words themselves that annoyed me, but the very idea
of anybody making a glib remark about
Bach at all. So IÕm moved to ponder why I hold Bach to be such a great
composer that offhand quips about him can raise my hackles. After all, I am not
put out if somebody offers a trivial sound-byte about, oh, Galuppi. So what
makes a composer Great as opposed to merely Good or even Adequate? Or can we
even say that any creator stands at a higher level of achievement than any
other? Are such judgments anything other than elitism masquerading as aesthetic
appreciation?
None
of these are easy questions, nor should one expect them to have simple or even
completely satisfying answers. And yetÉconsider biologist Lewis ThomasÕs opinion
about the contents of the disc that was to be placed on the 1977 Voyager
spacecraft before launching it on its long journey into the cosmos. Carl Sagan
had asked Thomas for his suggestions about works which would represent the
human race at its very finest. Thomas replied: ŅI would send the complete works
of Johann Sebastian Bach.Ó Then he paused and added: ŅBut that would be
boasting.Ó
Wow.
I try to imagine anybody ever saying that about any of my stuff. The
implication is that BachÕs work transcends conventional human excellence; weÕre
not talking here about just being an A+ student as opposed to plain old A. ThereÕs
a touch of deification in ThomasÕs statement, to be sure. But a reverential
tone is common when people talk about Bach. That scent of transcendence
perfumes all discussion.
(For
the record, the first human music on the Voyager disc is BachÕs Brandenburg Concerto No. 2, along with
two other works by Bach. He is the only composer on the disc—West or
East—honored so with three compositions.)
I
remember a story of a young woman who traveled through the counterculture of
the 1970s, indulging freely in the basic three food types: sex, drugs, and
rock-n-roll. In the process she destroyed her physical and mental health, but
eventually entered a long and difficult path towards regaining sanity and
balance. Every night, before going to sleep, she would listen to a recording of
BachÕs Goldberg Variations. To her
they represented all that is noble, accomplished, and—to use an
old-fashioned word—civilized in the human spirit. The humanistic glow of
the Goldbergs illuminated what must
have been at times a fearsomely dark journey.
I
can imagine other Bach compositions serving the same healing role—the Mass in B Minor, the Passion According to St. Matthew, The Art of the Fugue, The Musical Offering, The Well-Tempered Clavier. Those are all
monumental creations, any one of them a lifetime achievement for almost any
other composer. But even a short keyboard piece like Two-Part Invention No. 1 in C Major displays that same nobility,
that same accomplishment, that same—hereÕs that word again—civilization.
There
is a comprehensiveness about Bach, a thoroughness, that is rare in any creative
artist. From the micro-level of a single phrase to the macro-vision of a St. Matthew Passion BachÕs work
encompasses technical perfection, aesthetic beauty, startling originality, and
an unerring precision of intent. This is not to say that every single Bach work
is a masterpiece: of course not. His output includes some competent but
workaday stuff here and there. But there arenÕt any abysmal embarrassments like
BeethovenÕs WellingtonÕs Victory, and
his music at its best completely justifies Lewis ThomasÕs veneration.
BachÕs
sacred music has the unusual characteristic of dissolving the boundaries of the
religious context in which it was written. The Mass in B Minor is a deeply affecting work of art, regardless of
oneÕs religious orientation or lack of same; ditto the cantatas, passions, oratorios,
motets, or chorales. BachÕs mind and heart were infused with Christianity, to
be sure, but to refer to him specifically as a Christian composer is to limit him unnecessarily. His compositions are
ill-served by facile labels such as ŌsacredÕ or ŌsecularÕ.
BachÕs
music remains nowadays as strong a model of musical perfection as it ever has,
maybe even more given todayÕs heightened historical awareness, which provides a
more reliable appraisal of its merit within the context of BachÕs own day.
Musicians of later eras have gratefully acknowledged their debt to his authority.
ItÕs now more than 250 years since he passed away, but his overall stature in
the canon of Western musical art continues to grow, and his popularity with the
listening public holds firm.
Popularity
alone, however, is no measure of worth or greatness. At the time I write this,
a rap album containing songs with such ennobling titles as Puke and Big Weenie is high
on the charts. However, I will venture to propose that the Mass in B Minor will be a treasured achievement of Western culture
long after Big Weenie has faded away.
(In fact, for all I know, Big Weenie could
already be considered hopelessly quaint by rap cognoscenti.) If that be
elitism, so be it.
An
attempt to fathom BachÕs greatness using words is rather like trying to
appreciate the Mona Lisa by running oneÕs
hands over it. Let BachÕs music stand advocate for his greatness, and let the
babble of commentary recede into the background. Decide for yourself. There are
no prerequisites or qualifications: your job is just to listen attentively, and
Bach will take care of the rest.