But there is music playing in the background. That music is classical music. This is the music of the medieval period, past through the Renaissance era, beyond the common period, the 20th century, and right up to the present postmodern period.
It is in the nature of classical music to make the unfamiliar sound inviting; emotional turmoil sound noble; pain sound bearable, and the bearable sound tasteful. And even if you are sceptical of or unfamiliar with it, as long as you are open minded, by its special pleading for your listenership, classical music will move and even awe you.
It does this through its intricate organisation which encourages all of us to come to terms with our own intricate world. In the movie’s scene, the classical music that is played is appropriate, yet unobtrusive and almost inaudible. Despite this, we sense its tang, because before we heard it, there was a period of its absence. Now, as if in a cycle, there is its presence. And as we continue watching the movie, we are delighted by what we hear. Indeed, whether in a movie or in any other setting, we always enjoy pleasurable things more whenever they are punctuated by periods of intentional deprivation.
Nothing affects our physical and mental health more than illness. Nothing is as common in human affectation as illness. This is so obvious that it is impossible to find a human being who has not been afflicted by illness or whose loved one or closest person has not. And when long term or incurable illness afflicts an older person, as it did to my two friends mentioned below, instinctively we prepare ourselves for the inevitability of death. We do this even as we cling to the thread of hope for their eventual recovery from that illness. But when death happens to a young person, whom we always assumed had a long life ahead of herself or himself, we are crushed and bewildered and hold grievances against the unfairness, perhaps arbitrariness, of it all. Still, death continues to happen, often sooner, terminating, at its will, the infinite variety of life we are accustomed to.
We often reckon with death through requiems or memorials depending on personal circumstances. But it seems to me that for a very long time, our memorials for our dearly departed tended to be moments of subdued display of sorrow, pained silence, muffled wailing and anguished sobs. In short, they were too sombre.
Now it seems to me that increasingly memorials are likely to be occasions of some spirituality interspersed with theatrics, loud speeches and even louder music. In brief, levity appears to dominate some of them. There has to be a sweet spot between these two extremes of memorials. That spot must be a medium capable of placing us exactly where we ought to be, where a memorial is an instance of silent grief, dignified mourning and deep reflection.
Undeniably, that spot belongs to classical music as it has the charity, zeal and extravagance to allow us to experience a memorial as a bittersweet moment of remembering a loved one who has died. Through the sound blasts of instruments and the stubborn intensity of the musicians, it teaches lessons on life and its loss, and the queries we may have about those lessons. Carried along by its high pitched singing that haunts inasmuch as it acts as a choral balm, it deepens our acceptance that a void in our own lives has been left. The melody of its violin strings assists us to settle into this occasion for quiet meditation on sorrow and the unavoidable realisation that our lives will henceforth be changed. Because classical music knows that life hardly happens in a linear and conventional manner, it weaves audio and emotional textures. Thus, in it, joy, hope, accomplishment, grief and even depravity share the same performative frame, and consequently become a revelatory blend of great sound and human verite.
Both the appropriateness and effect of classical music for memorials arise out of two factors. First, this music allows us the emotional honesty of feeling freely what we want as mourners. Second, it has an inward quality for itself. It indulges the music’s artistic latitude through auditory metaphors and analogies. The moderate understanding of these binary factors is that classical music is a supplement to other artistic forms necessary for the remembrance of the dead and the consolation of mourners. The extreme understanding is that, with its roots in religion and faith, classical music is the only form of artistic expression capable of meeting the solemnity of death and the needs of mourners. Each understanding possesses some considerable truth. So, whichever understanding one is partial to, it is truthful to the extent of one’s personal appreciation of classical music.
Anyway, while other artistic expressions may attempt to do these things, only classical music succeeds in combining sincerity, drama and surreal expressionism in its form. Here then is a list of what I personally consider to be the best 12 mournful classical music songs, one for each month of the year. Each song has both the artistic and emotional heft of being music for the dying and those who survive them:
Samuel Barber: “Adagio.” Johan Sebastian Bach: “Air for G strings.” Pyotr Ilych Tcaikovsky: “Symphony No 6.” Gabriel Faure: “Requiem.” Edward Elgar: “Nimrod” from the Enigma Variations. Henryk Gorecki: “Symphony of Sorrowful Songs.” Henry Purcell: “Dido’s Lament.” Antonio Vivaldi: “The Four Seasons.” Guiseppe Verdi: “V’ho ingannato, from Rigoletto.” Guiseppe Verdi: “Requiem” Igor Stravinsky: “Elegy for JFK” Charles Ives: “The Unanswered Question”
*In memory of my friends and classical music aficionados, Michael Letsogile Mothobi, ex judge and kgosi, and Joseph Salem Lelyveld, ex New York Times executive editor and author, who died two weeks apart, in late 2023 and early 2024, respectively
