In the midst of searching for background music for my dramatic readings, I encounter the sweet bliss of the blast against the bias of the “Youth” of today. I’ve read enough and heard enough for a lifetime; I’m sure those teens and young adults have experienced more than enough for several lifetimes.
Why are the Millennials and the newest crop of children striving toward adulthood treated like the chaff that the wind, The Media, wish to blow away into the long ago of yesterday?
I’d like to say that this wretched treatment of the young by the old is new, but it is not. It’s merely been amplified by electronic gadgetry and by the rage-filled people who cannot look back to face their own mistakes in life, but they cannot look forward either. The future narrows even more for people who were old at ten, and bitter and resentful at twenty.
The public-domain music that I selected to accompany my reading of Ecclesiastes 9 is the Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber, performed live by the Orquesta Reino de Aragón & Ricardo Casero. Mr. Barber was born in West Chester, Pennsylvania on 9 March 1910; he died on 23 January 1981. Barber was an American original, one of the most prolific and profound composers of his time. Forty years have elapsed since his demise. His genius lives on through his music, a gift to all who yearn to hear beauty and solace and melancholy and the reward of contemplation.
For those who choose not to hear — anything — but prefer to talk and yak and carp and criticize, the music of Samuel Barber is not for them. I am somewhat astonished to discover the sheer numbers of teens and young adults who seek, and find, the very highest expressions of musical art. There are also many “amateur” musicians who have emerged from a rather nasty era in America, and elsewhere, with a resolute belief in his and her own talents. This self-starter provides for the world at-large, his own compositions, independent of the city throng to, en masse, cheer him on.
Exercising that freedom to share your gifts with others, regardless of a guarantee of payment, wage, acclaim, or corporate compensation, that bold step is the hallmark of a true artist. Samuel Barber followed his star, just as these musical live-wires are following theirs.
I have consequently taken the liberty of providing some very recent comments made by the bright and dynamic individuals who chose to indulge in pure musical artistry on the youtube site. I ardently agree with every one of their words.
The “young” people I grew up around were downers and cultural clods, infatuated with rock stars of little or no talent. Whether or not those people made up the bulk of that age group does not matter to me. What matters is that the same bunk is being manufactured and foisted upon the newest heirs to tomorrow. The panicked peddling of MP3s to miserable beings with the attention span of a flea, that omni-present and ghastly marketing drowns out the reality of legitimate business, that sweet spot where art and commerce converge:
There are millions of sprouts and shavers listening to, and learning from, the exquisite music of the past.
Those countless and quiet, even silent, young people — worldwide — hearken to the classics, even as the labels of Garbage are crudely affixed to them by the Moron Media. That Globalist Media are the real garbage. They’ve unwittingly created a groundswell for real music, and real art.
It is phenomenal, and, I think, Heaven-sent, as are these opinions:
“All these comments complaining that ‘kids’ don't appreciate classical music or that it is becoming obsolete. Sorry you feel that way, but many of us love this music. This music touched people's souls hundreds of years ago, just as it does now, and will hundreds of years from now.”
“Dying before your death is the greatest tragedy of existence... To be alive, but to have no life left. . . Never stop craving breath, never stop wishing for tomorrow!”
“Enough with the ‘today’s music is garbage’ and the, ‘I’m 14 and I love this music.” It doesn’t matter if kids get it. It doesn’t matter if adults do. Just enjoy it. . . Say what you want. Who am I, in regards to you, to say anything.”
“Fair chance no one’s ever gonna read this, but I need to get it off my chest; either way, this place is just as good as any. Make of it what you will.
Long, long ago, when I was but a wee little girl, I used to record music to cassette tapes. Had my own little radio, a whole set of tapes and too much free time on my hands. The classical music station was a favorite of mine, and I’d nicked many a song off of it and onto my little tapes.
There was one song in particular that moved me like no other, but I didn’t catch the announcement of what it was. Years went by and the tape was long lost, but I sporadically tried to find this one piece of music that used to move me so much.
Tonight I clicked on this video and, right at the start, there it was. The track that I’d replayed so much that the cassette ended up damaged. Just as beautiful as I remember it.”
“Just sitting here and closing my eyes and focusing on the different levels of the music, and what the composer must have felt while writing this music is extremely therapeutic. I may only be 18 but classical music has been such a huge part of my life, and is sometimes the only thing that encapsulates what I am feeling at the moment. The ability to sit down at my piano and just express how I’m feeling at the moment is something I wouldn’t trade for the world.”