by Dave Schwartz
Many of you recognize this as a quote from the Talking Heads song, "Once In A Lifetime." The Talking Heads was a rock band and if you are puzzled to find rock lyrics kicking off an op/ed on a classical music website, you’re not alone.
As I sat down to write this column, I searched for something to say, a question to ask, a point to make, but words did not appear. I needed to think and I couldn’t get this 20-year-old lyric out of my head. Like Poe’s raven it kept repeating its answer to my one question.
“What am I going to write?”
“Well, how did I get here?”
And the deadline drew near.
The brain is a funny thing and it likes to have its own way. “Oh I am sorry, brain, let me drop everything so we can deal with your agenda.” And so I did give in just to see what the gray matter was up to. Maybe the old fellow was actually trying to pitch in this time. By gum, maybe a retrospective is just the ticket. A nod to the past before pushing headlong into the future. Right. This could work. All I needed to do was ask the question.
OK? How did I get here?
I started a mental rewind through my life. (Stop. Adjust the volume.) And then I saw them. There they all were and in no particular order. Stravinsky’s Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments that day on Constance Street; Back in Black in seventh grade; Joe’s Garage in the summer of ’88; the "Waldstein"—first movement, Mahler, 1st Symphony and so on…all the music that ever held me spellbound, transfixed, captivated. Too many pieces to count, but I recognized each one to the last.
If you are like me, getting hooked on a new song, or symphony, or sonata—or at times just a single movement—is a moment of rapture that stretches across time. You live with your newfound musical pal. You listen at home, getting ready for work, in the car, working out.
You wear your musical discovery on your sleeve. You forge alliances with other fans you meet, and together you swear it’s the greatest music anyone will ever hear. You sing along at the top of your lungs. Play. Repeat. Play. Repeat. Play. Repeat.
For days these notes become the unifying theme in your life. And then they aren’t. You’ve moved on. The romance has evolved into a staid and solid marriage with a partner you can always count on when you need to be reminded of your capacity to love.
Those moments—those unbelievably incomprehensible, indescribable, life affirming slices of time when we are owned by a piece of music—are the reason we all listen. And they are the reason that I am here. Early on something in me decided that this music stuff needed to be explored (it was a unanimous vote although I don’t remember casting one).
Admittedly, my solution was a bit extreme. But I am pretty certain I’m not the only guy who let something like an infatuation with Led Zeppelin escalate into doctoral studies and student debt equaling the entire take of the Madison Square Garden box office for Zeppelin’s concert in ’73.
The old gray matter was way ahead of me this time. My love for classical music evolved out of my love for rock music, including the Talking Heads. For me the Talking Heads, Beethoven, Charlie Parker, Hank Williams and Stravinsky are all equals inasmuch as they have all given me those moments. In the big picture it makes no difference to me where that feeling is coming from, how I found it, or where it leads me next. It’s all humanly organized sound.
Sometimes the journey of discovery is circuitous. I take comfort in that.
