Happy 250th
Friday, January 27, 2006
BBC Radio 3 are doing Mozart proud today, of course, and I listened to the Jupiter Symphony in the kitchen while clearing up after pizza tonight. The awe in which I hold his music now stands in sad contrast to the opinion of Mozart I used to project to anyone who cared to ask.
In particular, I remember an occasion at the Edinburgh Festival - probably in 1983 - when I attended a poetry reading with Tessa Ransford, who was my propsective mother-in -law at the time. A number of celebrated Scottish poets were performing - the only one I can remember clearly is Edwin Morgan - and, despite my allegiance to Tessa, I found the whole evening rather dull. One poet recited - badly - a poem about the Pentlands, in which he conjured up the music of Mozart. A bad poem and, as far as I was concerned, a bad composer.
Later, in the bar, Tessa and I were joined by a number of the poets. We discussed the poetry and someone rather cattily remarked that the Pentlands poem was a poor tribute to Mozart. Fuelled by drink, a desire to impress, and the great stupidity of relative youth, remrked that, on the contrary, wallpaper music deserved wallpaper poetry. There was silence, which I took to be a sign of complicit agreement and, perhaps, some respect for my quick wit. I know now, of course, that the silence was merely the result of astonishment at my idiocy combined with pity for Tessa.
When did I change my view of Mozart? Possibly compounding the sense of my own shallowness, I have to admit that it was seeing Amadeus that made me view Mozart himself in a different light. It's so much easier to approach art when you have a sense of the life that was lived during its creation, whatever the purists and followers of Lawrence's 'trust the art, not the artist' maxim might hold true.
After Amadeus I listened to the music with a different understanding. I would now wallpaper my house completely with his music if that were possible.
In particular, I remember an occasion at the Edinburgh Festival - probably in 1983 - when I attended a poetry reading with Tessa Ransford, who was my propsective mother-in -law at the time. A number of celebrated Scottish poets were performing - the only one I can remember clearly is Edwin Morgan - and, despite my allegiance to Tessa, I found the whole evening rather dull. One poet recited - badly - a poem about the Pentlands, in which he conjured up the music of Mozart. A bad poem and, as far as I was concerned, a bad composer.
Later, in the bar, Tessa and I were joined by a number of the poets. We discussed the poetry and someone rather cattily remarked that the Pentlands poem was a poor tribute to Mozart. Fuelled by drink, a desire to impress, and the great stupidity of relative youth, remrked that, on the contrary, wallpaper music deserved wallpaper poetry. There was silence, which I took to be a sign of complicit agreement and, perhaps, some respect for my quick wit. I know now, of course, that the silence was merely the result of astonishment at my idiocy combined with pity for Tessa.
When did I change my view of Mozart? Possibly compounding the sense of my own shallowness, I have to admit that it was seeing Amadeus that made me view Mozart himself in a different light. It's so much easier to approach art when you have a sense of the life that was lived during its creation, whatever the purists and followers of Lawrence's 'trust the art, not the artist' maxim might hold true.
After Amadeus I listened to the music with a different understanding. I would now wallpaper my house completely with his music if that were possible.
