Put Another Nickel In

In all likelihood you have no idea what the title of this essay refers to. And that's the point.

Just to get that out of the way, it's the first line of a 1950 song sung by Teresa Brewer. You're probably not familiar with her either. The nickel goes into a nickelodeon – a jukebox – though that, too, is probably only a dim memory if you've heard of it at all. And with all the available devices for creating your own audio environment there's no reason why you should have – though you may have seen one in a museum, if you go to one. (Do people go to museums nowadays?)

Okay. Now down to business. I like classical music. The “three B's” are a good starting point, but I like other music as well, including some from before Bach and after Brahms. But I have to admit that I can't stand twelve-tone or non-melodic “modern” music. Much of it I find to be just plain noise. I'm quick to stipulate that the music I like was once “modern,” and viewed by many with the same horror and disgust that I now heap on many of the current composers and those of the last century. That, however, doesn't change anything. I like what I like. (I suggest that you look up BFO: www.acronymfinder.com/Blinding-Flash-of-the-Obvious-(BFO).html)

As for “popular” music, what I like, the music of the early and middle twentieth century, isn't very popular anymore. Those of us who remember and like it have to go out of our way to find it. “The Great American Songbook” has, in our minds, been corrupted by rock and hip-hop. I don't want to paint with too broad a brush – the Beatles (and some other groups and individuals) will live forever, but they're exceptions. And though I can't understand hip-hop or rap or whatever it's called, I know one thing about it: it ain't music.

Actually, rap is what got me started on this essay. Someone on the radio was commenting on the fact that “Hamilton” was likely to be named the best musical of the year. In accordance with the philosophy of Ayn Rand I don't have to see it to know I don't like it. The whole idea of a rap musical depicting events in the life of one of our Founding Fathers is so outlandish as to make any thought of spending good money (and my valuable time) on it risible. Perhaps it's a good teaching tool for those who refuse to learn history any other way, but if they're children from deprived families they can't afford it, and if they're adults who can afford it but never learned about our history in school and are too lazy to learn now, they should be ashamed – no matter how much money they've accumulated. The fictionalized story, in a form of music that would be unrecognizable to the title character, may be popular, but I find it depressing to think that this is what the American Musical Theater has turned into.

I grew up on the “Broadway Musical” at a time when it represented an important source of popular music. The era from Kern to Loesser was a great period in American musical history although I know there were many losers that accompanied the winners, and I know that there have been occasional shows since that feature actual, singable, songs. But in recent years most of the Broadway musicals have been based on rock and rap, or have contained whiny ballads that have no melody and all sound the same. And all the singers whine the same. Well maybe not the same, but without any uniqueness. Their only characteristics are melisma and the imitation of gospel and rock. The only good show are the revivals of the ones that were classics.

What I understand intellectually, but reject emotionally, is that my children and my grandchildren will, for the most part, spurn my likes and dislikes. (Of course they like the Beatles – another B. They're timeless. What's not to like?) Every generation views its likes as definitive, and dismisses later creations as perversions of the real thing. I shudder to think that they identify with “music” that is, for me, only un-understandable noise. For them it's a model of what music should be, but they'll be repaid when they have to listen to the music of the next generation.

We love what was, not what is. We remember with affection what we heard when we were young. It doesn't matter if it was new then or simply represented what was drummed into us then. Nostalgia. (That's not to suggest that Bach is nostalgia – he wrote great music. On the other hand Berg and Bartok – two other B's whom I didn't hear as a child – wrote music that makes me cringe.) Anything subsequent to that doesn't live up to the “good old days.” (It's not just the music, of course. The days of the nickelodeon and the group were, somehow, more fun than today's isolation by earbuds.) While we can't monitor what our children hear outside, we can permeate the home environment with (what we consider) good music. That's one way to give the classics a chance – whatever genre they represent.

Today's music strikes me as cacophony aimed at making money and winning awards (which are now a dime a dozen). They don't write music like they used to.

Boy, am I crotchety.