Venerdì 21 Ago 2009, 13:44
Contemporary classical music often seems an exercise in futility: No one wants to listen to it, no one wants to make it, and its perception is either that of avant-garde trash or over-grand sentiments of finery fir only for mockery.
Yet why then does the musician, the composer, the artist, why then do they persist in the face of the indifference of the rest of the world? What makes them decided to create, one song and one note and one sound at a time, the catalogue of infinity? What makes them feel that beauty or ugliness still need to be heard?
Are they the trees that fall in the forest, with no one to hear them?
Are they the passing wind that one hears, and either enjoys or dislikes, but soon forgets?
Did they destroy themselves in order that they might live again?
Or did they merely destroy themselves?
Contemporary music is a complex labyrinth, an abyss. And staring into this abyss for so long, it begins to stare back at me.