Classical Music and its Discontents
There is something undeniably romantic about the idea of having a full-time job as an artist — a composer, or violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra, or a novelist, a painter.
I think many of us, myself included have fallen prey to the notion that if you can’t make something your full-time job, it isn’t worth pursuing at all. This is definitely an assumption that I fell prey to while growing up. It was all or nothing.
From the age of about 14, I aspired to be an orchestral musician. I practiced day-in, day-out, fuelled by the belief that to achieve my goals, I would need to be the best of the best. The only way to achieve this was through hundreds, no, thousands (10,000 to be precise) of hours of practice. Here we see the Neoliberal myth of meritocracy in action. If only I practiced harder, I would have greater chance of success. Whenever I failed, I put it down to not working hard enough or a lack of discipline. I needed more ‘deliberate practice’.
One can’t deny that many of these traits aren’t useful to cultivate — but when you are caught up in the spiral of meritocratic thinking it is easy to lose any sense of moderation. Music has brought me a lot of joy. At certain points in my life, however, striving for success with music, especially within the inflexible, perfection-oriented framework of classical music, made me miserable.
Anna Bull, in the book ‘Class, Control and Classical Music’ has written extensively on the value systems embedded within the Classical Music world—the hierarchy in the orchestra seating plan, the enactment of meritocracy played out in the classical music competition, the emphasis on technical excellence as a necessary prerequisite for effective self-expression in performance. Bull argues that the emphasis on such values are rooted in the largely unspoken class-consciousness that continues to permeate Modern British society, painting the practice of classical music as a means of boundary construction for the middle classes, and a tool for social mobility for the aspiring middle classes, or otherwise upwardly mobile. The stakes are higher for those lower down the pecking order. A lot of Bull’s work hit very close to home — I would highly recommend it to anyone working in the field of Music Education, or interested in social class in British society.
While the culture of classical music can easily becomes toxic, I do think the communities practicing it have more redeeming qualities than Bull gives them credit for.
I did end up in a Musical career albeit not as a classical violinist. I am grateful for my job as a Music Teacher, because of how it allows me to put the values I personally hold dear, into action — such as community building, fun, care and self-expression. These were the values that drew me to music in the first place. I have explored new avenues as a Musician, like playing violin and keys in a pub band, that I wouldn’t otherwise have taken because my idea of what it meant to be an excellent classical musician left little time for it.
Of course it is great to aspire to be a concert pianist, or conductor or orchestral musician, but an equally valid aspiration is for a lifestyle where we make time for creative expression in our everyday lives. Amateurism — derived from the Latin word for ‘lover’ — should be celebrated rather than seen as something for those who have failed in traditional careers. When we take off the neoliberal blinkers, we realise we can do something for no other reason than just for the fun of it.
