Bach at 30,000 Feet: Does Accessibility Diminish the Value of Art?

As I write this, I am listening to Bach on my iPod, on an airplane, a setting that is clearly not what the composer had in mind. Here’s the question: does this elevate the moment, or degrade my capacity for appreciation?

Consider, first of all, the marvelous achievement that lies behind my listening experience. Even apart from the brilliance of the musical composition itself, and apart from the talent of the musicians who brought Bach’s score to life, there is the marvel that this performance could be recorded and compressed and made available to anyone who wanted to buy it. Consider the amazing technology that enables me to listen to these Brandenburg Concertos (for that is what I am listening to now) on a device smaller than my palm, tucked into the pocket of my jacket, with earphones so that I, myself, am my own private concert hall.

Technology has made music of all kinds vastly more accessible. I am not knowledgeable about classical music, though in a desultory way I am trying to develop more appreciation of it. I don’t go to concerts, so if I didn’t have this music on my iPod, I would not listen to classical music at all. So, sitting here on the plane listening to Bach, I am entering a world that would otherwise have been closed to me, making me richer than if I had not listened to it. What’s more, listening to this music on an airplane brings something of Bach’s joy and brilliance into an otherwise tedious and somewhat unpleasant experience. In a small way, the music makes this cramped window seat into a tiny concert hall.

And yet, there is a cost.

Portable Bach, airplane Bach, is a kind of shadow Bach. If I were to go to a concert to listen to Bach, I would give my full attention to the music, or at least I would try to. Here, though, I am using the Concertos as pleasant background noise to distract me from the hum of the jet and the chatter of the other people on the plane. I am not really listening – that is, I am not fully taking in the beauty of Bach’s creative work, nor the work of the musicians who are bringing it to life.

By having all this beautiful music available, whenever and wherever I want, do I become inured to its beauty? I can hear the same song over and over on my iPod if I want to, and it will always be exactly the same. But even when I ask a friend to play a particular favorite song on his guitar, it will not be the same song the second time. The ephemeral quality of live music reminds us that we are creatures moving through time and intersecting with eternity only now, in this present moment. We can only experience the moment; we cannot hold on to it. Recorded music gives me the illusion of control, gratifies my desire to hold on to the moment, possess it – a desire that I ought to starve rather than feed.

When we have music around us 24/7, do we hear it any more? When we are inundated with spectacular scenes of nature on high-definition TV, do we lose the ability to truly see it when we are confronted with the real thing? I think we do, or at least we can. Sadly, we can even learn to prefer the artificial to the real. Do we need less, in order to experience more?

And yet – deprivation does not automatically create a sense of appreciation. The absence of culture and beauty can help people to appreciate it more when they do experience it, but lack can also cause us to grow accustomed to a flatter, duller level of experience. Deprivation and surfeit can both lead to disregard of beauty.

Let us, then, be mindful of our riches, seeking out what is beautiful and good. Let us develop appreciation by also spending time in silence and stillness. Let us use music, and all art, not to anesthetize ourselves, but to awaken us to see and hear more clearly.

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