Provocative thoughts...

    Firstly, my apologies to whoever reads this...

    A while back, as I was catching up with a dear friend, the topic of music inevitably presented itself in our conversation. She claimed that never in her life had she known a purer music than classic rock. Of course this sort of hyperbolic statement was immediately filed into my brain for further perusal at my own leisure.

    I consider myself well versed in many forms of music, and open to those of which I have not yet experienced. I do not consider myself a music snob, nor do I spout the rantings of a quasi-pretentious listener who has "cultivated" his or her musical tastes through the critical opinions of mentors and/or college professors. I prefer to listen and learn, of course with that, I find the more I know the less opinionated I become.

    I've danced around to The Spice Girls, I've survived (and survived is right!) the Ring Cycle, I've listened to enough postmodern Jazz that I question my own sanity, I've even played air guitar to the amazing instrumental passage in Free Bird, and where has this led me on my musical education? Absolutely nowhere... and everywhere at the same time. While I agree with my gregarious girlfriend that classic rock has it's pure moments, I would have to disagree with her use of the superlative; purity is in the eye of the beholder...

    What is pure music anyway? Is it an honesty in emotion that's presented in the song? Is it a standard of excellence in instrumental virtuosity? Is it an integrity found in the lyrics/text by refusing to mold to fit the melody? It's probably a combination of all these things. And what about operas, or symphonies, or concertos that she has so quickly tossed aside? These do not fit into the typical 3-4 minute pattern of a rock song... but then neither did Free Bird. And lets not forget the innovation and brilliant thematic displays of any Pink Floyd album. Alright, maybe she has a point... or it could be that I'm reaching for her and she just got lucky.

    I really shouldn't be so cruel. But from where I'm sitting, the purest music I can imagine is anything in my life that has manipulated my mental construction of what I thought music was prior to hearing it. It doesn't even have to be an instrument, because for the past 19 years I've been rocked to sleep by the howling winds of Autumn, which are so iconic of the PNW.

    There are 3 instances I can think of that help me comprehend the seriousness behind my friend's statement, and they truly have formed my musical tastes: My junior year of college, feeling whimsical, I decided to cast aside an opera performance for a symphony. They happened to play Shostakovich's symphony no. 11 "The year 1905" and never in my life have I ever felt my blood run cold as it did when the snare drum exploded in a ravage of bullets descending on those poor Russian peasants. Second instance: Tosca, act II; a continuous love affair that I return to time after time when I need a sudden burst of epic tragedy to electrify my brain. And finally, instance 3: La Bohème, the final scene when Rodolfo cries out for Mimì right after she passes; these few seconds of desperate sorrow--that most closely resemble screams of anguish rather than music--have always made me feel included in the opera, as if I'm really living what I'm seeing... not sure why.

    Is pure music a good thing? As I reflect on what I feel to be "pure music moments" in my life, I find that none of them were actually pleasant, only supercharged with emotion... but I suppose one needn't place value on experiences solely through strict views on that which one deems as good or bad; beautiful or ugly. Alright, I should stop now, it's almost 3 AM and I think I've beat this into the ground enough that my mind will be settled for the night. I'll sleep on it and continue tomorrow, since it's closely related to something else that happened even more recently in my life...