The critical function 12.1: A matter of taste?

Cliburn and Konrashin manage this in a manner that will likely never be equaled. While I put little stock in public perceptions of art, the fact that this album was the first to record sales that put it firmly into the category of platinum albums (triple platinum, as of this writing) leads me to a horrifying conclusion: the public got it right and the “professional” missed the mark. As if this were not galling enough to an afficianodo’s sense of propriety, the basic elements of critical aesthetic judgment were lacking: decrying the amazing representation of everything anyone who has made the least effort to understand the composer would quantify as essential to a true representative effort, the review instead refers the reader to Stephen Hough’s lamentably popular recording: taking the tempos much too fast for his technical abilities, it is an exercise in a slipshod, solely virtuosic take on a concerto that has quite a bit more depth than is commonly acknowledged. Ironically, the review notes that Hough’s playing is preferable because it “has the quality of flowing water;” exactly: it is an undisciplined mess of fluid with little drive or point.

Jan Sibelius, who was a victim of more than his share of scathing critical reviews, once wrote to a critic that he was “sitting in the smallest room of (his) house with the review in front of (him), but it would soon be behind (him).” One word: touché. It does beg the question, however, why so universally acknowledge a composer would deign to respond to the nonsensical ravings of arbitrarily designated artistic guru. While one is tempted to cynically assert that critics are the organic phenomenon that occurs when an erstwhile aspiring musician fails to make a impact (thus he or she then searches for some other means of connecting with an audience), I believe that the reality behind their existence is much darker. The critic essentially appears in one of two forms: benevolent, patronizing snob or haughty, self-inflated snob; for the life of me, I cannot decide which type is more insidious.

The “good-natured” variety is invariably an insufferable bore: the shallow-read pseudo-intellect whose appearance at dinner parties is cause for indigestion. We have all met the type; having read a book or two on a given subject, he or she assumes “expert” status and loudly trumpets such a dubious achievement by the spouting of irrelevant facts or correcting the minor flaws in the commentary of others. Do you have the image of such a person in mind? Now apply it to the musical world: the critic acts as a sort of older brother figure who feels charged with explaining to you what’s “cool” and what isn’t. Unfortunately, as music is an extremely subjective art-form, this type of assistance is rarely warranted. In truth, for novice listeners, it can provide lasting damage in that it presents the world of classical music as inordinately complex with multiple rules and customs one must “learn” before being admitted into the inner sanctum. The patronizing critic, however well meaning, is nonetheless a pedantic busybody whose attempts to “improve” the listening audience quite often have the very opposite effect. Perhaps a walk on the “wild side” is merited…