My usual disclaimer had better go in here first.  In my rather
vivid imagination, I've dreamt up both a thoroughly unpleasant sort of
fellow and an unusually passive one (especially under the circumstances
portrayed!).  Let me hasten to add that I would personally find it both
very extraordinary indeed, and frankly, highly amusing, if it should be
discovered that anyone fancied that I was actually trying to portray a
known individual.  Any real or imagined resemblance of the characters to
any *real* person is pure accident and was certainly not intended.  I also
would add that any opinions presented are not necessarily identical with
those I may personally hold.

Anyway, without further ado, I present:

   A Slice of the Life of an English Music Critic: A Rather Surreal
   Short Story.

   "My dear fellow, I really must insist that you do stay for tea and
   a scone" the Critic said, affecting an unexpectedly warm tone. "After
   all, it must have come as a tremendous shock for you to learn the
   terrible truth that all four of the early Symphonies of Antonin Dvorak
   are totally inadequate by any standard".

   "That's very kind, good S.."

   "Please don't interrupt!  I must say it really is the height of bad
   manners and indeed a sign of ill-breeding, but knowing, as I do, that
   you, dear fellow, are but a simple man and somewhat Bohemian in your
   habits and tastes, I will make due allowance and pardon your unseemly
   and unseasonable transgression on this particular occasion."

   At that moment the maid, Mrs Stokes, a woman of middle age and more
   than ample corporeal proportions walked in with the refreshments that
   her master had ordered.  The Critic paused, silently gathering his
   thoughts as Mrs Stokes unobtrusively poured the tea, discreetly taking
   note of the unusual guest and his shabby appearance before leaving
   the room (and hurrying back to the Kitchen to spread the latest
   Gossip).

   "No, I'll simply not have it", the Critic continued, "I realise that
   you are a simple Fishmonger from the East End of this Great City of
   Ours, and it is to be expected that without Guidance the tastes of
   the Common People will be somewhat questionable."

   Once more the Critic paused.  His undistinguished Guest slurped his
   tea and scoffed his scone, daring not to speak.

   "I was at Oxford you know", continued the Critic, "And I studied
   Philosophy there.  I also acquired a DSc in Statistical Analysis at
   Cambridge.  My parents taught me to be self-reliant, so, for the most
   part, I had to pay my own way.  I cleaned windows, I swept floors,
   I polished up handles on big front doors.  I even got to meet Admiral
   Lord Hill-Norton.  Not that that got me anywhere really.  I mean,
   that old fuddy-duddy seemed to think he knew everything.  He struck
   me as being something of an idiot really - imagine!  he actually
   seemed to think that Sea Power was important and set about wasting
   his time making TV documentaries supporting his outlandish Claims.
   Well, I'm not afraid to call a spade a spade and I told him as much
   to his face.  He didn't seem to have much to say in reply as I argued
   the merits of Air Power.  Anyway, I later learned from a Mutual
   Acquaintance that the Admiral had complained that he couldn't get a
   word in edgeways and that he didn't see much point in it anyway.
   Hm, imagine that!  The Gall of the Man!"

   Again the Critic paused ever so briefly for a breath and sipped his
   tea.  Then he continued, "I belong to a long line of Distinguished
   Music Critics and I know that with the sort of Background that I have
   just outlined I am eminently qualified to write and speak the Truth
   on All Matters appertaining to Music.  Now, I know you must be
   wondering why I'm telling you all this and even more so wondering
   why I would even bother to entertain some Insignificant Non-Entity
   from a particularly Unsavoury Sector of the East End like You, What?"

   "Well..er..  yes, as I matter of fact I do wonder", the Fishmonger
   replied, somewhat hesitantly.

   "It's quite simple really, my dear little fellow, though I shouldn't
   imagine that it would be easy for someone of your Level of Comprehension
   to apprehend.  I and my Distinguished Colleagues are proud of our
   Traditions.  Among those Traditions, as you well know, from this
   Encounter, is an insistence on the outward Forms and Display of
   Civility.  It doesn't really matter what one actually says, so long
   as this outward Appearance of Civility and Polity is observed at All
   Times.  Of course, it is also a long-standing Tradition to pooh pooh
   the Early Symphonies of Dvorak.  Who am I to break with these
   Traditions? No, our Opinions must be heard; they must be observed
   and duly regarded by All.  It's bad enough when some poor fool from
   the Meaner Sort of Society in which you mingle, those with absolutely
   no Refinement of Taste, in other words, suddenly get some Fanciful
   and Egalitarian Notion stuck in their Block-heads that they can
   actually ignore the Critics and even Form their Very Own Opinions.
   No, indeed we cannot have that sort of Independent Spirit at all!
   I say categorically that the Early Symphonies of Dvorak and absolutely
   Everything by Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov are absolutely appalling
   Rubbish, and there's an end on't!"

   The Critic, noticing that his Guest was nodding off, prodded him
   sharply and seeing him fully alert again continued, "What is just as
   bad, if not worse, are the Encroachments of Trained and Professional
   Musicians on Our Turf!  They set themselves up in Opposition to the
   Critics at Every Opportunity!  It's simply Intolerable.  You get
   these Re-evaluations of Neglected Repertoire; New Interpretations of
   Standard Repertoire including Historically Informed Performances;
   and they're pandering to and actively encouraging The Lowest Common
   Denominator, by recording and re-recording The Four Seasons, Beethoven
   Symphonies, and far too much Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov.  And then
   there's this new Breed of Professional Composer, writing all manner
   of Strange Stuff or Popular and Accessible Stuff or alternating
   between the Two Extremes without Rhyme nor Reason and allying themselves
   to these Arrogant Performers and encouraging them to rebel, yes rebel
   I say against the Authority of the Music Critics.  This sort of thing
   cannot be allowed to continue.  Unless we defend ourselves against
   these Onslaughts of the Professionals who assail the Mighty Fortress
   of Our Opinions as Intermediaries between their Divine Inspiration
   and the Ignorance of the Average passive Listener, we might actually
   have a sort of Musical Reformation on our Hands!  Oh, perish the
   thought that the Position of Critic could ever become open to Everyone
   according to their Own Tastes and Conscientious Efforts!  Goodness
   me, look at the time.  Off you go now, my dear fellow.  I'll call
   Mrs Stokes in to escort you out through the Tradesmen and Servants
   Entrance.  I can't have you leaving through the Front Entrance and
   giving cause for Gossip among the Neighbours!"

The End.

Geoffrey Gaskell [log in to unmask]
http://freeweb.digiweb.com/music/Gustav_Mahler/