A Rocky Road to Appreciating Rachmaninoff
Apparently, I'm told, September is Classical Music Month. Although media attention lately has been all about country music with the recent passing of Dolly Parton, and although her name is certainly not associated with classical music, I'd like to focus a bit today on the classical spectrum and how I came to appreciate it.
By the way, Parton got her first step toward stardom, her big break, in my home town, Knoxville, Tennessee. Cas Walker, a grocer who had stores in Tennessee, Virginia, and Kentucky, was among the first entrepreneurs to take advantage of the relatively new medium of television.
Cas Walker's Farm and Home Hour was a country music/variety show that featured plenty of ads for his grocery stores. It had started as a radio program airing on WROL-AM and later WIVK-AM in Knoxville, but in 1953 it switched to the TV format. It aired until 1983. Among its many up-and-coming future stars were Chet Atkins, the Everly Brothers, Barbara Mandrell, and a little 10-year-old girl named Dolly Parton.
But I digress. Back to the topic at hand--classical music.
My introduction to classical music came from hearing it as I was flipping randomly through the FM radio stations and ran across some selections being played on WUOT, the University of Tennessee's FM radio station. At the time, I thought it sounded strange, discordant, and unmemorable.
But I learned to enjoy it (some of it, anyway) in my freshman year of college. I had a sophomore roommate from California named Carl Mehus, who had brought to school with him a TEAC
reel-to-reel recorder, two big speakers, and a stack of tapes, all filled with classical music. And he played them every morning as we were getting ready for our first class. Bach's organ music by E. Power Biggs. Piano concertos of Rachmaninoff. And others. After a while the music grew on me.
I especially grew to enjoy the music of Rachmaninoff, particularly his Second Piano Concerto and A Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. I could listen to those all day long and never tire of them.
To this day, whenever I hear one of the pieces by composers to whose works Carl's tapes exposed me, I'm mentally transported back to Smith 124 and I'm 16 again. Carl has since passed, but I had the privilege of working with his daughter, who was a teacher where my wife worked and a summer artist with the educational publisher I worked for. She enjoyed hearing me tell of her dad's and my college escapades and how I learned to share his enjoyment of classical music.
But my true appreciation of the genre came during my senior year, when my major required my taking (and passing with a minimum grade of C to graduate) a class called Music Appreciation.
The first half of the semester involved lectures on various composers, their compositions, and the numerous parts of the musical pieces, the "ups and downs" of the music, from fast to slow and from soft to loud, etc. It also involved spending a lot of time in the Music Library, listening to assigned selections from the various composers we had discussed in class. I really enjoyed that aspect of the course and could have listened all day if other classes in my schedule hadn't gotten in the way. It was such a relaxing time for me that I sometimes found myself jerked awake when the music reached a sudden crescendo.
The music of Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Grieg, Rachmaninoff, Schubert, Wagner, even Aaron Copeland, and others became my favorites.
The midterm exams involved listening to a mere sound bite of a teacher-chosen piece and then identifying the composer, the name or number of the composition, and a few other characteristics about it. I aced that part and felt pretty good about my chances of passing the course with no problem, even getting a C.
But then came the second half of the semester, which involved trying to understand and explain the intricacies of music theory and other such things that definitely were not my forte. I couldn't even read music, let alone understand chords, octaves, scales, etc. It was all more confusing to me than Greek or Chinese.
In my family, everyone could sing and play the piano, even Daddy, a rough- and calloused-handed brick mason. I could do neither. When the music genes were handed down, I got skipped, and my younger sister got both her share and mine. So I struggled mightily with that part of Music Appreciation class. I flat out bombed the final exam, which tested nothing but music theory-type knowledge. I began to despair of even getting the minimum grade of C to pass and graduate.
But when the final semester grades came out, I had gotten a C- in the class. A miracle had just occurred, and I couldn't explain how it had happened. How could it be? Had the teacher actually made a mistake? Should I say something and risk getting the grade I really deserved?
I decided just to keep my mouth shut, and on graduation day, as I was heading for my assigned place in the line to enter the auditorium for the ceremony, I passed the instructor of the class. Our eyes met, and she smiled slyly and nodded her head. I immediately understood the unspoken message. She had been merciful and surely had given me enough points to get me through the class by the slimmest of margins, the skin of my teeth. I credit her for my being able to march across the platform and receive my degree.
I still can't read musical notation, and I have no clue when it comes to music theory. But I do appreciate classical music and enjoy it to this day. And I really, REALLY appreciate Miss Marilyn Hertel!
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