First off, super-sized kudos to Anthony Tommasini, the classical music critic for The New York Times. To even have the interest, much less the ability, to grapple with an ultimate ranking of the greatest classical composers, is laudable. He should be appreciated for pulling it off calmly yet convincingly, and in the process he stimulated minds and (inevitably) stoked the ire of fanatics whose favorite names were (inevitably) left off his list. See what you think, here. The comments section alone is a goldmine of sorts, with knowledgeable folks chiming in with their opinions and, in many cases, taking umbrage at Tommasini’s audacity for omitting (insert name of composer here).
As a lifelong lover of classical music but by no means an expert (unlike jazz, rock, reggae and blues, I am not quite as insatiable and my appetite for new works is often satisfied by returning to the hundreds of discs I’ve already amassed, largely represented by the heavy hitters of the various genres). Put another way, I know more about –and worship– classical music than most people I know, but I am quite aware of, and dutifully humbled by the folks who know a lot more than me. I recognize that unlike, say, rock or reggae where there is one definitive version (often the one recorded in the studio though of course live versions can compete and sometimes surpass the originals), when it comes to classical music a real aficionado can spend serious time (and money) comparing multiple (in some cases, dozens) of versions of a particular piece, and make a considerable production out of measuring the ways they hold up against each other. For most people, there seems to be an implicit consensus that the integrity of a piece lies in direct proportion to capturing the best, if not actual, intentions of the composer. For that reason, I’ve never been a fan of Alfred Brendel, whose idiosyncratic (or solipsistic) tweaking always seems sacrilegious if not (with the works of Beethoven especially) insufferable. Ditto for any performer who thinks it is appropriate or permissible to inject even a bit of themselves into the work; the mature and confident players seem to innately grasp that their unique imprint will be manifest no matter what they do; by making an effort to leave even the slightest fingerprint on the sonic canvass betrays a very human sin of pride.
I also appreciate –and enjoy– the reality that mileage varies and accomplishment is always in the ears of the behearer. As such, a person whose taste I may respect immensely will find Brendel’s interpretation of Beethoven’s sonatas superlative and consider my ardent preference for Barenboim unbelievable. I think some of this has to do with a phenomenon that has long fascinated me: the notion that the first rendition of a particular piece becomes not only the basis for all future performances, but is copied onto the individual’s hard-drive as the immutable version.
So…you see where this is heading, right? My plan is not to offer an alternative list, in part because if forced to choose, my list would not be too different from what Tommasini came up with. But there are a couple of personal heroes he left off that I will pay tribute to. And I’ll have a few things to say about the giants most humans will agree belong at the very top of the list. To be cont’d…
