sexul si muzica clasica

In articolul “Who needs this when the classics are already bursting with sex?” scris de Ivan Hewett pentru The Telegraph , ni se propune o scufundare in lumea muzicii clasice cu 'ajutorul' unor notiuni precum erotism, sex appeal, si sex. Si cum in lumea marketingului se spune ca frumusetea fizica si sexul vind orice, si cum atatia se plang cum ca muzica clasica are nevoie de o infuzie de strategie pentru a o face mai atragatoare (la incasari), se pune intrebarea daca sexul ar putea coabita cu muzica clasica si astfel readuce publicul in salile de concert. Au muzica clasica, dirijorii, tenorii, violoncelistele etc, sex appeal? Sau au nevoie de putina cosmetizare?

Sectiunea de Trivia de pe Nescape ne tine tot timpul la curent cu descoperiri si confirmari / infirmari de ipoteze privind programarea genetica a fiintei umane in ceea ce priveste recunoasterea frumusetii fizice. Recunoastem trasaturi considerate frumoase intr-un barbat sau intr-o femeie, dar cum sa recunoastem erotismul din muzica clasica? Suntem programati pentru asa ceva? Majoritatea ar fi acord ca Vanessa Mae sau Linda Brava sunt ceea ce in zilele noastre se considera a fi niste “femei frumoase”. La capitolul frumusete masculina, Hewett ii aminteste pe tenorii Maltese Joseph Calleja si Juan Diego Flórez. Muzica pop, gen muzical adus in discutie de Hewett pentru a-l contrapune genului clasic, musteste de erotism rafinat in cel mai bun caz si sex vulgar in cel mai rau. Nu e deloc greu sa recunosti aceste teme in versurile facile sau ritmurile cu inflexiuni erotice.

In ceea ce priveste muzica clasica, multa vreme asociata cu prezenta unor dirijori seriosi, incruntati, lipsiti de sex appeal, functionand intr-o lume masculina si dupa reguli ale creierului masculin, problema pare a fi mai nuantata. Si totusi, dihotomia creier-sex este doar aparenta. Sexul ne este in creier, si orice sexolog poate confirma asta. Nu avem nevoie de prezenta explicit sexuala sau frumusete explicita pentru a trai erotismul. Erotismul se hraneste mai ales cu amintiri si imaginatie, iar muzica este despre amintiri si imaginatie 100%.

Un alt loc comun ar fi ca sex appealul nu are nimic de a face cu frumusetea fizica. O stim prea bine, pentru ca asta ne si permite sa ne indragostim si sa fim atrasi de oameni care nici nu sunt catalogati drept frumosi. Sex appealul sta in atitudine si in forta interioara pe care reusesti sa o exteriorizezi. Muza lui Dali, Gala, nu era o femeie frumoasa, dupa spusele lui Paul Eluard, primul ei sot, si totusi fascina toti barbatii cu care intra in contact. Si probabil ca ne aducem cu totii aminte de un exemplu masculin sau feminin in sensul asta.

Ce ne facem cu muzica clasica pana la urma? Nu e nimic nou in a spune ca acest gen de muzica foloseste un limbaj nu usor de descifrat. Pentru muzica clasica avem nevoie de educatie, cineva care sa ne initieze, asa cum avem nevoie de cineva pentru a ne ajuta sa descifram universul picturii, nuantele fine ale nenumaratelor soiuri de vin sau chiar tainele sofisticate ale erotismului.

Tinerii au nevoie de cineva sa ii indrume si sa le arate ca si muzica clasica are acelasi erotism ca si muzica pop, exprimat doar altfel. La urma urmelor, intre Romeo si Julieta, piesa scrisa in limba zilelor lui Shakespeare si filmul lui Baz Luhrmann, prefer filmul, desi unii au criticat aspectul sau de kitch. Pentru mine, filmul directorului australian e o modalitate de a le demonstra tinerilor si nu numai ca personajele si temele shakesperiene sunt general valabile. Cum ajungi la sufletul si intelectul tinerilor, daca nu demonstrandu-le ca acele personaje pot functiona le fel de bine si in zilele noastre, traindu-si aceeasi drama cu aceeasi intensitate? Toti creatorii sunt condamnati sa prinda esenta eternului in hainele efemere ale timpului; vremurile se schimba, limba evolueaza, cuvinte noi apar, altele dispar si clasicii au nevoie de o “traducere” inainte de a fi cititi in “original”. Macar pentru a ne deschide apetitul. Si daca pentru deschiderea apetitului functioneaza , in ultima instanta doar snobismul sau, pe post de momeala, frumusetea fizica fabricata a violoncelistelor si tenorilor, eu votez pentru.

Who needs this when the classics are already bursting with sex?”
Ivan Hewett


In all the earnest debate about how to "sex up" classical music, one thing is never mentioned - sex itself. And yet what more potent force could there be for getting new people into classical concert halls?
The market, not sharing the squeamishness of the debaters, has seized on this obvious fact with relish. Suddenly, we're surrounded by glamorous young violinists, cellists, singers and - believe it or not - bassoonists.
If you don't believe it, look at www.beautyinmusic.com, where you'll find pictured a generous acreage of musically-gifted pulchritude, listed by instrument. Among the violinists there's Linda Brava, rather better known for her centrefold appearance in Playboy than for playing in the orchestra of the National Opera of Finland.

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You could say that classical music has sex on the brain, which, as D H Lawrence said, is a very bad place to have it. Bad or not, it makes for something jarringly out of tune with current notions of sexiness.
How on earth can you combine the sublimated, secret yearnings of Brahms's chamber music with the up-front sexiness of, say, Bond? The short answer is, you can't. They belong to different worlds. It would be like adding lip gloss to the Mona Lisa.
In any case, is the alleged unsexiness of classical music performers such an open-and-shut case? Many of them are just plain dull, to be sure, but isn't the appeal of conductor Lorin Maazel basically erotic, with its mix of refined pleasure and power? Or take someone such as the young Martha Argerich, with that flaming, unruly hair and that mesmerising power.
You might say classical performers are rarely good-looking, but since when has that been a bar to genuine sex appeal?
The example of the greatest sex symbol classical music has ever produced - Franz Liszt - shows that looks are hardly the most important thing. True, Liszt was mesmerisingly good-looking when young, and when he strode on to the stage, his sword of Saint Stephen clanking at his side, and slowly peeled off his gloves, the ladies swooned.
But, 30 years later, Liszt had a facial wart to rival Oliver Cromwell's, and was routinely dressed in an abbé's vestments. Yet he still fascinated women (and not elderly ones either). One of his admirers disguised herself as a man to pursue him across Europe.
Compared with these giant personalities, the sexiness of Bond or Vanessa-Mae seems manufactured. Only a culture that could routinely use the word "sexy" in antiseptic contexts (a "sexy" company logo, for example), could possibly find these vapid creatures alluring.
And I suspect the audiences are with me. Who gets more scented billets-doux, I wonder: the glossy girls of Bond, or craggy old Alfred Brendel, who has more than a suggestion of a twinkle under that furrowed brow? I wouldn't like to bet on it.