You have to pity John Williams, a little. Here’s the most-recognized composer America’s produced in the last 35 years, a man who brought orchestral music back to Hollywood soundtracks after the pop-song collections of the 1970s, who’s tapped to compose a brief chamber-music piece for the inauguration of the 44th President.
“But it’s going to be outdoors, right? Not inside?” you can hear him asking.
“Right, yeah, so we’ll have some mics and cameras set up,” an inauguration aide says.
“Can’t I use an orchestra? I’m great with orchestras, can really knock ‘em dead.”
“I know, I know, but we want something Copland-y, and Yo-Yo Ma’s signed on already. And The One heard a cello solo once and thought it sounded like the British Empire’s final gasp.”
“The Elgar Concerto?”
“Maybe, I don’t know, all I know is, cello, violin, piano, clarinet. And you have four minutes.”
“What about a brass quartet? Or how about—?”
“No.”
Given the circumstances, adapting a well-known melody for a chamber quartet doesn’t seem like such a wrong-headed move, as some have argued. The 1.4 million people who probably can’t make out every dynamic nuance can listen for the tune and feel the pervasive sense of Americana kicked up by “Simple Gifts.” Sure, Aaron Copland got there first, but in this instance, recognizability trumps originality.
That’s because I think many listeners come to classical music to be consoled, and to be wrapped in the soft cloths of something familiar. The actual musical content is secondary. I’ve played the third song of Kindertotenlieder for a friend, and made sure the text was read, and been told, “That’s really pretty.” This a song about watching your wife come through the door, looking next to her for your daughter, and realizing she isn’t there because she’s dead, with one of the most shattering oboe solos ever composed flying overhead.
Same thing with the massive E minor chord that ends Brahms’s Fourth Symphony. In both cases, something meant to instill awe and terror and pain and sorrow doesn’t do that to someone who can’t — through no fault of their own — decode the musical language.
What they hear is a symbol of peace, and of grace, and maybe even ennoblement. Is that really so bad that we can’t give Williams some praise for a job well done this time? Classical music may have to struggle against a lot of outdated stereotypes to gain followers in this century, but there are some friendly barnacles I don’t mind hanging off the hull. The stereotypes I mean, not Williams. John Williams is his own fleet.
Lastly, it’s really hard to write a knockout piece d’occasion. People may not remember Air and Simple Gifts 50 years from now as a grand commemoration of the Obama administration, but they will remember the sight of a group of classical musicians with names like Itzhak, Yo-Yo, Anthony, and Gabriela playing and smiling up there. I hope. As much as anything, classical music remains a symbol and an ideal of perfection and cultivation that’s worth striving for. Even when it’s imperfect and falls short of its goal, it can put us in mind of our better selves. John Williams is no dummy, and knows that “Simple Gifts” isn’t always simplistic.
